


The Sweet Spot

by XbleedwellX



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Angst, Cuddles, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Graphic Descriptions of Sex Work, Lap Dances, M/M, Marijuana Use, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Strippers, alcohol mention, drug mention, fanon Glanni, handjobs, porn in chapter 9, strip club au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-10-13 22:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 27,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XbleedwellX/pseuds/XbleedwellX
Summary: AU where Glanni and Ithro are both human and work at a strip club in New Jersey, owned by Anton Poldark. No Hero/Villain complex....well, not in the way y'all think. Porn with tons of plot and beautiful fluff. The angst is real and I'm so sorry but I promise they fall in such a deep, happy, and safe love.





	1. Cinnamon and Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr users @thatbluesuitedblowhard and @steponcarload decided that there weren't enough GlannIthro AU's and now y'all have this. This is being written on and posted from an iPhone, so apologies if there are any formatting errors.

\----

Isn't it funny, how things work out sometimes? 

It was never supposed to be more than a way to make a little money, taking this job. It was never supposed to be anything more than helping out his cousin, filling the bar's chipped shot glasses with half-priced alcohol. But things don't always work out the way we intend them to, do they? 

Ithro had only been in Jersey for a few weeks, when he'd been in his cousin Anton's apartment, complaining about not being able to find any work. Ithro had left Iceland to pursue the american dream-to broaden his horizons-but he found out shortly after moving that it was much harder than he'd thought. 

Now, the muscled man hadn't been fishing for this outcome. In fact, he'd completely forgotten that his cousin owned the seedy strip club just a few miles into town. It wasn't íthró's scene, not at all. But, even if it's not what you want, even if it's not what you planned...how can you turn down a full time job, when it's the only offer you've got? 

And so Ithro took the bartending gig. And it wasn't so bad-not the first few nights. The other employees at the club were welcoming enough-except one-but more on that later. If anything, it was the patrons that Ithro didn't enjoy. 

The entire club wasn't too large. Dimly-lit, red-tinted lights hung in rows from the high ceiling. The bar was cherrywood, sturdy, a few chips here and there, spanning the length of the entire back wall. 

Ithro wasn't the only bartender, it usually took two people to cover night shifts, three on the weekends. Speakers were on either side of the bar, constantly blaring much too loud pop music remixed into something that wasn't quite danceable, but made your entire body buzz anyhow. 

The floor was slick black linoleum, a weird choice, but it looked just fine. There were dozens of chairs on the floor-that's where most of the money came in-the lap dances. But beyond the scattered red armchairs, there was a stage, pressed up against the wall opposite the bar. Maybe three hundred feet away from the bar, and always covered in glitter. 

Two poles jutted up from the blood-red platformed stage, and that's where the girls danced in the spotlight. Well...the girls, and Glanni. 

Glanni was...something else. Anton had originally only intended to hire women to work the floor and to dance, but like a smart business man, he saw a chance to bring in a larger and more diverse clientele, and that's how everyone at the Sweet Spot ended up with Glanni. 

It wasn't that he was awful, no, not at all. He just had a tendency of rubbing people the wrong way. Especially in Ithro's case. 

The first time he'd officially met the male dancer was on his second night working at the club. He'd just finished a rush at the bar, and had left out the side door with a full garbage bag in each hand. Anytime if was slow, the muscled man would pick up the slack of other workers, as he wasn't one to enjoy a lull in work, or stand around and wait whilst doing nothing. 

Pushing the side door open with his elbow, the bartender stepped out into the brisk night air and silently scolded himself for not wearing a jacket. Jersey could get pretty cold sometimes, and it didn't help that it was almost one in the morning and Anton always wanted him in muscle tanks when working the counter. "To show off the goods," as his cousin put it. 

Four girls were leaning against the outside brick, a few feet away from the door, puffing down cigarettes while they waited for shift change. Ithro didn't know how long he'd keep the job here and tried a hard as he could not to step on any toes, not to make too much conversation, not to get close to anyone here. 

So, he gave a small nod of acknowledgement, eyes focused beyond the small huddle of women, and made his way across the parking lot to toss the bags into the large navy blue dumpster. It was a short walk, maybe fifty paces diagonal across the lot. It should've been a simple task, to throw the bags over his shoulder and into the bin, and travel another fifty paces back to the door. 

And, really, that was all Ithro had intended when he turned on his heel and started to make his way back. Just a simple thing, a quick errand, no more than three minutes. Not bothering anyone, not making any waves...it really is funny how things happen, isn't it? 

Halfway back to the door, a low voice cut through the night air, causing Ithro to stumble just a bit and turn his body to face the dancers on the wall, trying to figure out which one of them had called out to him. 

Only once his eyes focused in the dark, did the bartender realize that he was wrong before. It wasn't four women on the wall; instead, three women, and one man. Though, with the way the man was dressed, it wasn't exactly a mystery as to why Ithro had made the mistake. 

Silently, the muscled man let his eyes scan up from the glitter-clad black pumps attached to long, pale legs. His eyes scanned what looked to be spandex hot pants-just as black as the pumps, and just as glittery-clinging tightly to the man's body. He wore a light grey jacket that didn't quite fit the rest of the get up at all, something he must've thrown on right before leaving the house. 

Words escaped dark-painted lips once again, as the man pushed off the wall a little and stood to his full height (which was quite something, with those heels). "Are you going to answer me?"

Íthró's throat felt dry and he had to clear his throat before taking a step toward the group, ignoring the smirks and small giggles from the women as he got out his response. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you-what did you say?" 

"I had asked-" a sigh escaped the other man's lips as he uncrossed his arms and pulled a cigarette from his pocket, raising it to his lips and letting it hover. "-do you have a light?" The question was sealed with a smirk, not something quite threatening, no. It was more like Ithro had just unknowingly entered a game he had no idea of the rules to. 

The shorter man glanced between the faces of the three girls on the wall, looking for any hints of how to handle the situation. But they were no help, one of the women was glued to her phone, and the other two were just looking between the men, waiting for Íthró's answer with wide eyes. 

The bartender swallowed and reached into the front pocket of his jeans, fishing for a moment before wrapping his fingers around the half-sized lighter he'd picked up from the bar not too long before coming outside. Patrons were always leaving wallets, lighters, watches and the like at the bar. ithro was usually quite diligent with putting things into the lost and found, but somehow-maybe even due to fate-he'd completely forgotten about the lighter he'd grabbed until just now. 

"Yeah, actually. Here." Ithro took a step forward, and the dancer stepped off the wall and came forward a few feet, until he was practically towering over the shorter man. Ithro swallowed, tilting his chin up so he could make eye contact with the smirking man, extended his hand in offering, assuming that the other man would take it. 

But instead, he'd put the cigarette between his lips and leaned forward, raising an eyebrow and presumably waiting for Ithro to light the stick for him. And, for some reason, Ithro obliged. Maybe to avoid a scene, maybe to get this entire exchange over with, or maybe because the stormy eyes that held his own gaze made it impossible for Ithro to say no.

Whatever it was, it caused Ithro to flick his thumb over the metal of the lighter and raise the flame to the end of the cigarette, watching the dancer's cheeks hollow as he puffed. The moment the end of the stuck glowed red, ithro brought his hand down and shoved the lighter back into his pocket, leaning back from the smoke being blown into his face. 

"Thanks," the taller man said with a small smile, as he crossed his arms once again and turned on his heel (with much more grace than he should've been able to, not that Ithro noticed). "The name's 'Glanni', by the way," the dancer-Glanni, Ithro now knew, said over his shoulder as he took his spot on the wall once again. 

The entire exchange was so odd, Ithro didn't even respond, but instead silently made his way back to the door. Pulling on the silver handle, he stepped through over the threshold and went back to his position at the bar, hoping to forget any of it had happened.

But that's the thing about Glanni-once he enters your life, you can't shake him. And that was evident no more than twenty minutes later, when the dancer slid up the bar. No jacket this time-but instead bare, pale skin, obstructed only by shimmers of body glitter and two X's made of black tape on his chest. 

The taller man leaned his elbows onto the counter and gave Ithro a wide smile, all teeth and lipstick as he raised his voice, most likely trying to be heard over the speakers. "Can I get a Shirley Temple?" 

There had been a lull at the bar, and while Ithro would've loved to pass this order onto the other bartender, she had just gone on break, and it simply wasn't an option. So, he forced a smile and bent at the waist to grab a glass from under the bar, trying to make light conversation as he prepared the drink. 

"Glanni, right? Interesting name choice." Most of the girls he'd met so far had had rather cliché names, like Diamond or Cherry. "Why not something like 'Candy' or 'Sugar'?" 

Ithro looked up with a playful smile, sliding the finished drink forward some and into an awaiting hand. A hand that gripped the drink tightly, black stiletto nails clinking against the glass as the hand's owner gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. 

"Glanni is my real name," he said simply, a free hand lifting to run long fingers through his short brown locks. The eye contact between the two men never broke, as the music pouring through the club switched to something a bit more upbeat and the lights dimmed just a bit. 

"What? Why would you use your real name?" Ithro frowned some, quirking an eyebrow up, genuinely curious. Wasn't that the first rule of sex work, to never use your real name? Glanni didn't come off as anything less than a smart man, surely he had to have some grand reason to put his own safety at risk. 

Awaiting the answer, the bartender watched as the dancer gracefully lifted the glass to his lips, tipping his head back as he downed the entire thing. The now lipstick-claimed glass chimed as it the base of the cup made contact with the bar, and Glanni gave another one of those smirks. 

"'Sugar' is a cute name, I guess." He pushed the glasses forward some with the backs of his knuckles, giving a small giggle as he finished the thought. "But nothing is sweeter than 'Glanni'." 

The taller man leaned back off of the bar, the music starting to fade out and the tapping sound of someone testing a microphone came over the sound system. It was Anton's voice, coming in thick through the speakers: "And now, please welcome to the stage, our very own Glanni Glæpur!"

Music resumed and lights flashed in the back of the house. Only then did Glanni saunter away from the bar-away from Ithro-and up to his position on the red platformed stage, one hand already wrapping around a pole. 

The bartender tore his eyes away, cast them downwards as he grabbed a rag from behind the bar and started to wipe down the counter, not daring to move the empty glass still resting on the cherrywood. 

There was something in that first exchange. Or, well, the first two. Something in that smirk, something hidden in that sweet tone. Something that showed on Glanni's face, in his eyes, and dripped off of his tongue. 

It was something that made Ithro absolutely certain that this man was going to be a big part of his life. Whether that was a good or bad thing, only time could tell.


	2. Music And Lyrics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Glanni is dancing to is 'Adrenalize' by In This Moment (thanks @justlazilyrotten) and there's probably some formatting mistakes, but here we are anyway.

It was becoming clear now, that strip clubs really weren't Ithro's scene, not at all. And while he appreciated the art of it, the athleticism it took to be able to maneuver on a pole, and the artistry it took to speak with your body, he did everything in his power not to watch the stage whenever the dancers performed. 

It was just a little surreal, to know that all of these people lived lives off of the stage. That each woman who slipped out of stockings for paper bills could be the same woman you run into at a grocery store on a Tuesday afternoon. They were real people, people that Ithro was starting to get to know, and it just felt...strange, to watch. 

There was a back room to the club, though it was hardly ever used for more than a storage room now. Must've been put out when laws changed, is what the bartender figured. He never wanted to ask outright, never wanted his cousin to think he was getting any kind of ideas. 

But, because of the back room being out of service, that meant that the chairs on the floor were optimized for lap dances any chance they could. The only thing worse for Ithro than having to watch the performances on stage, was making eye contact with a girl giving a lap dance to an over-enthused business man with wandering hands. 

By the second week, Ithro was pretty sure he could keep it up. The fake smiles, the rapid drink orders, the side work to distract him from whatever show was going on across the club, or even on the floor. But one night changed that, and in the worst possible way. 

It was right around two am and Ithro was getting ready for a shift change, for once savoring the lull in bar traffic. Most patrons who stayed this late were regulars, here while their wives slept at home. Men waiting for their favorite dancer, or looking for a few minutes alone with whoever was featured at half price. 

After nodding to his coworker, confirming he was totally fine for her to go on a cigarette break, Ithro knelt on his knees, taking count of the glasses and open bottles beneath the bar. A little difficult with the lights being so dim, but if he didn't take advantage of his time alone now, it would never get done. 

Something came unexpectedly, making him jump. The music swelled and practically burst throug the speakers. It was something he'd never heard before, not the usual peppy dance remix, no. 

This was something raw and dark, something electric. Overwhelmed with curiosity, and drawn in by the music, Ithro finally stood and looked to the stage, somehow not at all surprised but still enthralled by the image he saw. 

Glanni was absolutely alive on stage, a look Ithro's never seen before plastered across his pale features. Eyes painted black, lips a bright and dark blue. He was shrugging out of a pink jacket that seemed to never have belonged on his body in the first place, the way it fell to the floor so easily. Chest bare, and hot pants somehow seeming tighter than usual tonight, he was a sight to see.

Heels so high it should be a crime kicked the jacket to the side. Bare, white legs carried Glanni to the edge of the stage, light reflecting off the pale skin on display. Hues of blue and ultraviolet white flashing across the glittered floor, making Glanni look like a goddamn star. 

Ithro couldn't look away this time. Didn't even want to. No, instead, with wide eyes and his lips pressed together in a hard line, he watched. He watched as the dancer leaned over the edge of the platformed stage and reached a delicate hand out to grab a drink from a regular on the floor, nodding his head at the patron in thanks as he spun on his heel. 

Ithro watched as Glanni came alive. He owned the stage, owned the song, owned the night. With every swirl of Glanni's hips, every flick of a tongue across parted lips, it was clear that this was for no one but himself. The way the music swelled, the way the dancer's eyes closed as he leaned back against the pole, it was entrancing. 

But even more than that, was the way Glanni leaned his head back, the way he raised his hand and tipped the stolen drink. Alcohol rolled down a glistening chest, traveled down in sticky, sweet tracks, stopping only when they hit his waistband. 

Ithro's mouth was open now, hands gripping tightly onto the edge of the bar, eyes absolutely transfixed on the man completely losing himself in the music on stage. He'd never seen a song so angry and raw be turned into something devastatingly sensual. 

In fact, Ithro was so engrossed in the performance that he didn't even notice that someone had come beside him behind the bar. A hand slammed down a newspaper in front of the bartender, causing Ithro to jump about a foot in the air and gasp lightly. 

He turned his head, catching a full view of his cousin's profile. Swallowing hard, Ithro glanced to the paper now lying before him, licking his lips before he spoke. "What's this?" He was partly embarrassed because he had been caught watching so intently, and partly nervous because he knew the kind of person his cousin was. He would never hear the end of this, that was for sure. 

"Page eight," the club owner replied, crossing his suited arms in front of his chest, smirk plastered across his face. Curiosity getting the best of him, Ithro's shaking hands anxiously flipped the paper open. The papers were turned rapidly, until the aforementioned page was spread before his eyes. 

It was an advertisement for the club, taking up an entire two pages of the local reader. Bright red letters spelling out 'The Sweet Spot', and underneath the lettering, the club's hours were listed. But beneath that, there was a picture of three dancers posed on the edge of the stage. Ithro recognized each of them, and his mouth went dry when he realized who was sitting in the center of the spread. 

"It is a picture," Poldark said in a voice straining to call over the high-voltage stream of noise blaring through the speakers. He leaned into Íthró's shoulder a bit, turning his head to make sure his cousin could hear him. "It will last longer. Especially with Glanni." 

The muscled man's mind went blank for a minute, eyes flickering between the spread on the counter and the real-life dancer parading around on the stage, now on his knees at the edge, taking bills from customers with his mouth. And god, was Ithro's throat dry. 

"I wasn't even-" he had started, ready to defend himself. But, when he turned his head back to the spot where Anton had been standing, he realized he was alone. So he closed the insert, angrily ripping it up from the counter and rolling it in his hands, taking a few steps over to the garbage can and tossing it in. 

It wasn't as if he'd done anything wrong, really. He'd just gotten caught up in the moment, caught up in the adrenaline that was pouring through the club, radiating off of the male dancer. It's not like he was going to start making sure to watch Glanni perform, no, of course not. 

But, he couldn't say he wasn't relieved when the music finally died off, cut back into something more fluid. Stealing one last glance across the club, he realized Glanni was no longer on stage, and that the house lights were back up. 

Patrons had dispersed from their spots along the stage, and the girls were making their rounds to the chairs. It was a completely different feeling altogether, something much more calm and mundane. It was an atmosphere that allowed Ithro to collect himself, to go back to counting the inventory under the bar. 

His chest felt tight and his hands felt clammy, knowing he'd not only just /watched/ Glanni perform, but that he'd been caught. By his cousin, no less. He took in a deep breath, kneeling onto the floor once again, counting the open bottles carefully. One breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. Smell the roses, blow out the candles. He could do this, he could calm down. Roses, candles. Roses, candles. Roses....

A tap on the top of the bar, knuckles rapping hard against cherrywood. Of course. Now that the show was over, the patrons would be coming up for drinks. So he stood, smile wide as he started his normal script. "What can I get f-" 

"Hey," came a familiar voice, stormy eyes burning deep into Ithro, causing his breath to hault for a moment. Why Ithro was surprised, he had no idea. He should've known by now that this was how Glanni operated; inconveniencing you at every turn. 

"Shirley Temple?"

A soft laugh. A laugh that made the dancer's eyes crinkle a little at the corners, white teeth practically glowing in contrast to the electric blue lipstick. Taking a seat on the barstool, the dancer crossed his legs slowly. "No, no, actually. Do you have some napkins or something? There's no more baby wipes in the dressing room and I've kinda got a situation..." 

The bartender watched as Glanni gestured over his still-glistening chest, streaks of alcohol causing the maroon body glitter he always spotted to absolutely shine in the ambient lighting. His mouth felt dry again, his hands felt too warm, and he couldn't exactly remember how to breathe. Something about candles and flowers...

"Yeah, uhm-hold on." He bent at the knees once more, pulling a cardboard box full of cocktail napkins from a small shelf. Plopping them onto the counter when he stood, Ithro leaned onto his elbows. 

Glanni's hands-the same hands that had been running over his own milky skin only minutes ago-reached for a handful of napkins, and he started to speak once again. "I appreciate it," he mumbled, starting to dab up the mess he'd made on himself. 

But what could Ithro say? 'Not a problem! I loved watching it!'? No, no. That wouldn't be very good at all. So he stayed quiet, eyes focused on a small chip in the bar. They really should fix this place up a little...

A wad of dirty napkins were placed in front of the shorter man, and the dancer uncrossed his legs and started to rise. "I'd love to stay and talk, but it seems I've been booked for dances for the rest of my shift." A dazzling smile was flashed Ithro's way and before he knew it, Glanni was across the room, settling into someone's lap. 

And even though he knew he shouldn't, he watched as Glanni leaned forward into the man. Watched as those painted lips parted and words were exchanged. He watched Glanni's hips move with such determination, such skill. And he hated himself for wishing that he was the one underneath them.


	3. Day and Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

What in the world gave Glanni the impression that Ithro knew a single thing about makeup was beyond him. But work was slow on the day shift and Glanni isn't exactly the easiest person to say 'no' to. 

So on a slow Tuesday morning, Ithro found himself standing awkwardly in the dressing room of the Sweet Spot. There were three small desks, mirrors lined on the tops, encircled by impossibly bright vanity bulbs. 

Dressed casually for once, in tight jeans and a plain black t shirt, Glanni had his tongue between his lips in concentration, sitting down in a metal folding chair, digging in his bag. Every few seconds, he'd place a random eyeshadow palette or some kind of black tube of product onto the vanity's counter. 

It was too quiet in the room, and Íthró's eyes couldn't focus on just one thing. There were posters and headshots of all the dancers plastered on the walls, advertisements for the club taped to the edges of the mirrors. The carpet was a dark blue, and the three tattered leather couches placed in the main area of the room were covered in costume pieces. 

Ithro recognized the glittered hot pants draped over the arm of one of the couches, and once again he got that weird feeling in his chest that seemed to be coming around quite frequently lately. So he tore his eyes away and instead stole a quick up and down of the dancer sitting in front of him. 

Glanni looked handsome like this, Ithro couldn't help but think. A clean face, casual street clothes, lost in thought as he searched his bag for all the things he needed. Something Ithro had never seen-something that reminded him that Glanni wasn't just some sex symbol, wasn't just another face at the club, but rather a real person. 

And the realization caused something to settle in the pit of his stomach. It nagged at him, caused him to hold his lower lip in his teeth as he looked away, focused on one of the posters on the wall. But he must've been concentrating too hard on not concentrating on anything, because he completely missed what Glanni said. 

"Hey, Ibuprofen- you good?" 

Looking back at the clean-faced man, Ithro frowned a little. "It's not...you can call me 'Ithro'." 

"Whatever. Like I was saying, I wouldn't normally ask the bar staff to help me with this, but Elizabeth called off and I can't even out my eyeshadow on my own-hey, dude, seriously, are you okay?" 

Ithro nodded slowly, realizing that his eyes had been locked on Glanni's lips the entire time. Feeling heat rise up his neck and spread over his cheeks, the bartender swallowed hard. "I'm great. Just a little tired. Not used to the day shift, it's a weird change of pace." 

Shoving his bag under the desk, Glanni crossed his jean-clad legs and settled back into the chair some, looking over the products he'd set out. "Yeah, but the good thing is that Anton rotates the day shifts so that no one's stuck with 'em for too long. Sucks. You never make much in tips at three p.m." 

"I can imagine." Ithro reached over and picked up one of the eyeshadow palettes, full of purples, blues, and whites. Prying apart the clamshell lock, he opened the palette, completely mesmerized at the amount of glitter packed into the pans. He was so enthralled in fact, that he hadn't noticed Glanni smiling up at him, chin resting in his hand, elbow balanced on his knee. 

"You gonna just look or are you gonna paint me up?" 

Ithro glanced up from the shadows in his hand, and raised an eyebrow. "What colors?" 

Glanni's fingers wrapped around the white handle of an eyeshadow brush on the counter, and he passed it off to the shorter man standing in front of him. "Well, first of all, you'll need this. Second, how about we start with purple?" 

Ithro jumped the tiniest bit when Glanni's fingers brushed his, passing the tool off. But he composed himself rather quickly and held the brush like a pencil, looking over the seven different shades that could be considered 'purple'. He scrunched up his nose and frowned a little. "Which one?"

A soft laugh came from the taller man, and he shook his head. How adorable, he couldn't help but think, that this guy was really trying for him. "The lightest one. Light colors go down first. Just on the lid." 

And with that, Glanni sat up a little in the seat and closed his eyes, ready for Ithro to get to work. But the shorter man was still lost, and could only guess how to do this. He'd thought for a moment, swirling the brush into the product, about how Glanni's makeup usually looked. 

He thought about how well Glanni's colors usually blended on his lids, when he'd bat his eyelashes at the bartender, asking for a refill on his drink halfway through the night. Ithro thought about the way Glanni's eyelashes casted shadows on his cheeks when he'd bite out a snarky comment about one of the other girls to Ithro, always in passing. 

Leaning forward some, the muscled man took note of how calm the dancer looked. Face so relaxed, eyes closed contently, a small hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Lifting the brush to Glanni's face, he started to work. Remembering, or trying to remember, how it normally looked, and trying to do it justice.

Glanni sat rather still, rather content. He'd always loved getting his makeup done, being able to just relax and not think for a little while. He loved the confidence that color gave him. And whether or not he'd say it out loud, he loved the way Ithro was so gentle about it. 

When the dancer felt the soft bristles cover what he'd felt was enough of his eyelids, he spoke softly. "Black next, in the crease."

Ithro hadn't been prepare to feel Glanni's breath on his wrist, hadn't been prepared to hear his soft voice cut through his thoughts, and he jumped the slightest bit, nodding to no one in particular. "Okay." 

And so he did as told, swirling the other side of the brush into the black at the far left of the palette, bringing it up the space he knew Glanni normally had covered in shadows.   
Without hesitation, Ithro narrowed his eyes a bit in concentration, and used his free hand to gently hold Glanni's chin, lifting his face upward a little. "Open your eyes?" 

The dancer did as told, looking up at Ithro with such a soft expression, Ithro swore he could've fallen into it. Breathlessly, he just looked into the taller man's gaze, face feeling much too warm once again. 

"Does it look okay?" 

"Beautiful," Ithro said quietly, not daring to break the eye contact. And thankfully, he didn't have to, because Glanni's eyes fluttered shut once again and the hint of a smile turned into a full curve, causing the rest of his face to absolutely radiate. 

Once it looked just about even, at least according to Íthró's memory, he stepped back and shut the palette in his hand. Setting both the tool and shadows back down on the vanity, he nodded to himself and took one last look over the dancer's calm and contended face. 

"I think it's even." 

Glanni opened his eyes slowly, turning his body slightly so he could look in the mirror. And, honestly, it was much better than he'd expected. It didn't look too far off from what he normally painted onto his features. And the colors mixed well. 

Awaiting a reaction with baited breath, Ithro leaned forward on his toes some, licking his lips before finally asking: "Good?" 

"Great," the dancer replied as he reached for a black tube of eyeliner, unscrewing the cap slowly. Pale fingers wrapped around the cap of the eyeliner, and with a few skilled flicks of the wrist, Glanni managed-much to Íthró's wonderment-to line his eyes perfectly. "Seriously, thank you." 

Ithro let out a heavy breath, relaxing his body some, leaning back against one of the vanity counters that wasn't being used. He knew he should be getting back to work, but it /was/ slow. And he worked hard on Glanni's makeup, he deserved a break. Plus, he wasn't exactly complaining about getting to watch Glanni stroke a mascara wand through his lashes. 

"Not a problem." The bartender let his hands slide deep into his own pockets, just a quiet observer to Glanni's routine. Somehow, the silence wasn't awkward in the dressing room. It was borderline comfortable, neither of them feeling the need to force conversation. 

And so, silently, Ithro watched as Glanni grabbed a thin tube from the table, raising a deep purple covered wand to his lips. The dancer swiped the color so skillfully onto his mouth that it seemed almost criminal. 

Relieved his hands were in his pockets, so that they wouldn't start to shake, Ithro pressed his lips together tightly. As quickly as Glanni smeared the paint over his bowed lips, it settled and dried. And once dried, that perfect pout could've passed for rose petals. 

Smooth and bright evened color clung to the dancer's lips and regrettably, all Ithro could think about was leaning forward and just-

"Anyway, I should be getting back to the bar." Pushing off the vanity table, the muscled man forced a small smile and didn't dare to look over his shoulder as he approached the door, leaving Glanni to finish transforming into someone new. 

But as he turned down the hallway that led out to the floor, as Ithro pulled his hands from his pockets and nervously scanned over the backs of them, trying to calm himself, he couldn't help but think about Glanni. Couldn't help but think about how casual he looked when he first came in. Couldn't help but think about the innocent light in his eyes when he'd looked up at Ithro. Couldn't help but think about how soft his skin felt under the bartender's fingertips. 

And Ithro couldn't help but think about just how fucked he was.


	4. Leather And Lace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhHHHHhh

Flashing lights always gave Glanni a headache. Why he still stayed at this job, he had no idea. Sure, he loved the attention. He always had. But lately, this job was getting harder and harder. 

Not because of the patrons, or even the physical effort it took to perform well. No, no. It was mainly the people he worked with. Or at least, one person. The new guy. 

Stepping onto the stage, the dancer's gaze immediately went past the faces, over the heads of all the regulars. Dozens of men, holding hundreds of dollars, lined the edge of the stage, they filled the seats of the floor. And their eyes were all locked on Glanni as he pressed his back to the pole on the left side of the platform. 

But they didn't matter. The money didn't matter. What mattered was what Glanni's gaze settled on: a smiling bartender, fixing a drink for one of their coworkers. 

Glanni kept his expression as even as he could, biting his lip. It added to the dancing, to the performance he was putting on. But little did any of the patrons know that Glanni was only biting his lip to keep from smiling. It was hard not to, seeing blonde curls fall over sun-kissed skin. Seeing white teeth on display, seeing blue eyes light up across the room. 

Regrettably, Glanni wished he could be the cause of that smile. Wished he knew what to say, but every time he tried to make conversation, he couldn't seem to push past his usual snark. Couldn't seem to find a common ground, a topic for a regular conversation. No, he usually said the complete wrong thing and was met with a blank stare. 

Or, sometimes, the bartender would just completely ignore him. Sometimes, like when he'd asked for help with his makeup, once Ithro had put in the bare minimum for conversation, he'd walk away. Just leave the room. 

It was clear that he had no interest in being around Glanni, and why would he? All he was was a two-cent whore. Someone who paraded around for men. Someone who didn't care enough about himself to stop. Someone who could never mean anything to someone so happy, so full of energy and life. 

But it didn't stop Glanni from wanting attention from him. It didn't stop Glanni from laying awake at night, hitting a bowl and letting his mind wander. It didn't stop Glanni from pining. 

So, the dancer let his head loll back some, finally tearing his gaze away from the one thing he knew he couldn't have. Instead, he let himself soak in all of the attention. Focusing on the buzz of the music, he let one hand travel down his own chest, palming over himself ever so lightly before pushing off of the pole. 

Dancing was starting to get harder, knowing that at any minute, Ithro could look over. Knowing that /if/ the bartender ever did happen to glance his way, he couldn't fuck it up. He'd need to be on his game. And it was exhausting, exerting that much energy every night.

It wasn't fair that they were always scheduled together, either. Especially not when Pokdark was so adamant about Glanni staying away from Ithro. The dancer remembered it like it was yesterday, even though it had been almost three weeks since he was cornered. 

\--

Glanni had been seated at the vanity, doing his makeup, mouth open as he skillfully ran a mascara wand through his lashes. He was concentrating so hard, in fact, he'd barely heard the door to the dressing room open. 

Anton stepped in, snapping his fingers and giving a soft whistle to the two girls lounging about on the couch, waiting for their shift to start. "Out," the suited man said calmly. 

The girls listened, shuffling out quickly. Anton hadn't been carrying his gun as of lately, but they could never be too sure. And while he was completely harmless, no one wanted to deal with him shooting at anything and everything in sight when he got frustrated. 

Glanni dropped his hand, screwing the mascara shut before he sighed and started to push up off of the chair. Eyes cast downward, he hadn't prepared for two strong hands to come crashing down onto his shoulders, holding him in place. 

"Not you. You stay." 

Glanni clicked his tongue, looking back up to the mirror, meeting Anton's eyes in their reflections. "What did I do this time?" It was always something with the moody manager. It seemed Glanni was always rubbing him the wrong way. How he still had a job at the club was a wonder. 

Strong fingers dug gently into the dancer's shoulders and Glanni heard a soft chuckle from above his head. "No, no. It's what you're not going to do." 

A confused look cast over Glanni's reflection in the mirror. "I don't follow?" 

"Of course not." 

"Mind filling me in? This is starting to bore me." The dancer attempted to rise from the seat once again, but he realized quickly that wasn't an option. 

The club owner cleared his throat, tilted his head a little in thought, and finally met Glanni's eyes, at least, in the mirror. "My cousin is starting next week, and I want you to be on your best behavior. This boy-he is like puppy dog. Very easy trusting, and you...you are least trustworthy person I know." 

A scoff. Lanky arms crossing over a bare chest. "I resent that," Glanni bit back, pouting just a little. Though, Anton wasn't exactly wrong...but still, the implication stung just a bit. As shady and as irresponsible as Glanni could be, he's never done anything with a coworker. He would never. He couldn't afford it. Anton should know that by now. 

"Glanni," the shorter man sighed, finally releasing the dancer's shoulders. When he'd uttered the stripper's name, it sounded like it was the preface to a thought. But the thought was dismissed quickly, Anton moving around Glanni to lean back against the vanity's counter. 

"His name is íþróttaálfurinn..." Anton ignored the eyebrow the dancer quirked at the name, and continued. "He might ask you to call him something shorter. Anyhow, he is from Iceland, and he is going to be adjusting to american customs. He is going to read too much into the things you say and do and I...I do not want to deal with the aftermath of that. Like I said-he is trusting boy."

Glanni frowned now, genuinely offended that his manager thought so lowly of him. Not that he should be surprised, really. He never gave anyone a reason to trust him, anyhow.

But instead of defending himself, instead of allowing Poldark to know he'd offended him, Glanni simply shrugged. Leaning to the side so he could look over his makeup in the mirror, the dancer let a delicate finger raise up to wipe the corner of his mouth, fixing his lipstick. "Fine. I'll stay away. Not a problem. Besides, if he looks anything like you, I won't be interested anyway." 

Poldark gave a small chuckle, lifting off the counter and giving Glanni's cheek a gentle open-handed tap. "Good boy," he crooned, starting to make his way to the door. But, of course, to get one last jab in, the manager looked back over his shoulder. "And please, invest in some new clothes. I'm tired of seeing last year's lingerie float around the stage." 

Glanni had scoffed again, rolling his eyes. "Says the man who wears the same three Armani suits every week." 

\----

And that should've been it. He should've heeded Anton's warning. He should've never asked the bartender for a lighter. He never should've marveled at the way the bartender seemed to always laugh everything off. He never should've let himself get lost in those impossibly blue eyes. 

And he shouldn't have stepped off the stage, fingers intertwined with a customer's. He shouldn't have stolen one last glance at Ithro as he walked the patron to his favorite chair. He shouldn't have felt a pang of pain in his chest when he saw Íthró's head snap in the other direction once their eyes accidentally met, as if he couldn't stand to even look at Glanni. 

But most of all, Glanni shouldn't have put his hands over the stranger's on his hips as he lowered himself down. And he absolutely, positively, should not have closed his eyes and imagined that those hands were Íthró's.


	5. Actions And Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess?? I should put here that,,,there's slight violence? There's a punch. Not between the bois.

This was not just anxiety. This was not nerves. This was not fear. This was neither good nor bad, and this was not something that could be explained easily. 

It was something white-hot, the rush of adrenaline that washed over Glanni. It was something that made his head spin and his throat dry, had him at a loss for words. It was a feeling the dancer hadn't ever experienced before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. 

But after a few moments, he was able to place a name for the feeling that made his veins feel suddenly cold. He found a name for what had all of his nerves on end, for what caused the music playing over the club speakers to fade into a dull hum in the background. 

It was shock. 

Everything happened so fast, Glanni hadn't had time to process it fully. Not until after the metaphorical dust settled and he was left sitting at the bar, eyes wide, pale fingers clutching tightly onto a full glass of water. He could hear someone talking extremely close to him, but he couldn't quite make out the words. 

Nothing was making sense and his body was buzzing and it was taking much too long for him to come back from this trance, this state of limbo where nothing was bad but nothing was good. It was bearable, this in-between space. And Glanni wasn't totally ready to leave the calm of his mind, but a strong hand on his shoulder snapped him back to reality. 

Hazy grey eyes met piercing blue ones, a familiar Russian accent finally breaking through to the dancer. Finally, the taller man was able to process the words being practically shouted at him. "Glanni- why did you not say anything to me?"

"About what?" 

"What do you mean 'about what'? About the customers, Glæpur, about wandering hands! You know the policy. I take all the girls word when they tell me things are not right. I know you're thinking you can handle this, but I think you are overestimating...now my bartender can't work the rest of his shift because he just had to be a hero."

Almost on cue, the aforementioned bartender came walking in from the employee bathroom behind the bar, a terry cloth rag wrapped tightly around the knuckles of Íthró's left hand. And, fuck, that was definitely red bleeding through in three spots. 

Glanni licked his lips, closing his eyes for a moment. Ah, so /that's/ what happened. The dancer could remember it now, now that he realized he was safe and that no one was going to hit /him/. 

\---

He'd been giving a lap dance-nothing more than the usual. A little grinding, a little talk, maybe a hand on his hip or his own hand on a stranger's shoulder. But this time it had gone just the slightest bit too far. 

The hand that Glanni had allowed to rest on his hip had started to travel upwards, slowly over the dancer's stomach. Slowly up over the dancer's chest. But when that wandering hand continues to move, and started to curve around the nape of Glanni's neck, the dancer knew what was coming. Within seconds, he was going to be pulled down. 

Now, this was not the first time at all, and Glanni was used to handling it on his own. He had put his own hand over the customer's, bringing it back down to his own hip, murmuring that this wasn't the time or place for anything more. 

The dancer had tried to push away, had started to get up, playing it off with the song changing and the small shift in mood from this particular man beneath him. But that wasn't going to be the case, because the customer-someone who Glanni had never serviced before-was holding tightly onto his hips, standing with him. 

Though Glanni knew he could get out of the situation within minutes, and though he was mostly calm, that brief moment of realization must've shown on his face-that split second of wondering 'how the fuck did I get in this situation?'. Because in the twenty seconds it took for Glanni to go from realizing to strategizing, the dancer realized there was no longer a hold on his hips. 

Seizing the chance at freedom, the tall man took a step back, catching himself from tripping over his own heel. Glanni looked between the patron and the man who had approached the pair, not entirely sure how to process the sight before him. 

No longer at the bar, no longer calm like normal, no longer soft and sweet, Ithro took a step between Glanni and the customer. And he looked...angry. It was something Glanni was sure he never wanted to see again. All of the bartender's movements were quick, a hand firmly planted on the customer's chest, holding him at a distance. 

It was clear why the stranger would have eased up on trying to put Glanni in a compromising position, because although Ithro was short, he was definitely strong. And a little scary when he was angry. 

Some words were exchanged, words Glanni wasn't focused enough to catch. He couldn't stop trying to figure out how Ithro managed to come over so quickly, how dark the bartender's tone was, or why the hell he was so taken aback by it all. 

Glanni had to take another step back as Anton approached from the side, calmly asking what was going on. But calm is not what it stayed, not when Ithro reeled his arm back and a sickening crack came as a fist collided with a face. 

Glanni would've loved to know if the man cried, if Ithro was truly defending him because he cared, and if the stranger's nose was broken. But in an instant, Anton's hand was pushing on the dancer's lower back, and he was being removed from the situation. 

\---

It had all happened so fast, and Glanni wasn't even sure /why/ any of it happened. He was totally in control...he always was. He didn't need anyone to defend him, as flattering as the gesture might be. And he certainly didn't need to be the reason for anyone to get fired, let alone hurt...

"Glanni? Are you okay?" The concern in the bartender's voice caused a wave of guilt to flow over the dancer. Here this man was-hurt, because of Glanni, and yet still asking if /he/ was okay. 

The dancer cleared his throat as he gave a small nod, knuckles white from how hard he was gripping the glass in front of him. "I'm great, I didn't need your help." He bit his lip, seeing Íthró's eyes change from concerned to saddened. There he goes again, messing things up. "Sorry. I mean...is your hand okay?" 

The bartender started to unwrap the rag he had wrapped tightly around the wound, but winced and decided he'd better not touch it. So he just grit his teeth and let out a sharp breath through them, nodding as he looked away. "It'll be fine." 

Anton leaned one elbow onto the bar, raising his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "You two are very lucky that man is not going to press charges...very lucky." With his free hand, he reached over and effortlessly pulled the cup of water from Glanni's grasp, chugging it down. 

"Both of you," the suited man said, slamming the glass down onto the cherrywood of the bar. "Go the fuck home. And don't ever pull this again-either of you." 

Glanni frowned, taking note of how serious his manager's tone was, how angry his face was. The dancer wanted to protest, wanted to say how it wasn't his fault, wanted to just continue his shift and forget it ever happened. And he was going to, in fact, he'd even opened his mouth to speak. But before he had the chance to, he heard a much softer accent from behind the bar, asking him a question. It was a tone that was sweet and inviting, maybe even sounding a little nervous. 

"Do you need a ride home?"


	6. Fire And Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye. It's not, obnoxious or anything, but this chapter is going to feature a marihuana mention. Fair warning. Enjoy!

Glanni knew it wasn't a good idea, to take Ithro up on his offer of a ride home. He knew, wholeheartedly, that Ithro was only trying to be nice. That he was only trying to make sure the dancer wasn't shaken up about what had happened. 

But for a chance to sit three feet away from Ithro...for a chance to maybe make some real conversation, Glanni didn't feel /too/ guilty about slowly nodding his head, rising from the barstool. The stripper didn't even bother saying 'goodnight' to his manager, and instead just looked over the bar to the incredibly nervous looking bartender. 

"Let me change real quick? I'll meet you by the dumpster?" 

Glanni was met with a small nod, Ithro turning around to go back to the employee bathroom-most likely to wrap his hand in something a little more sturdy than a cleaning rag. 

And so Glanni headed to the empty dressing room, avoiding the curious looks from the other girls on the floor. They saw enough, he was sure, and the gossip was something he could deal with on another day. Right now he needed to focus. 

After pulling the door to the changing room open, he sighed and grabbed his bag out from under one of the vanity desks. He didn't want to give Ithro enough time to change his mind, so he just pulled his jeans on over his usual shorts, fumbling to fasten the button and pull up the zipper. 

He realized his hands were shaking, so he took in a deep breath, taking a moment to focus on calming his nerves. The breaths he drew in were shaky and uneven, something that sounded like he was going to cry...and maybe he was. He pulled on a loose-fitting grey shirt, smoothing it down with his palms as he looked up and met his own stare in the mirror. 

He could be something someone could love. He could he strong for someone. He could stop this, if he wanted to. He could have what he wanted, if he tried. Sure, tonight was confusing and stressful and Glanni wasn't quite sure what to make of Íthró's gesture, but it didn't have to be a bad night. 

Glanni ran a trembling hand through his own hair, messing it up just a little. Yeah, he could definitely do this. He could go get in the car and thank Ithro for standing up for him, and they could go from there. 

The dancer kicked off his heels, switched them out for something a little more sensible from his bag. After changing, he shoved the plastic pumps into his bag, slinging it over one shoulder as he stood once more. Grabbing his jacket from the back of one of the three leather couches in the room, Glanni headed outside. 

It hadn't been more than six minutes, the time Glanni took to change and gather up his belongings. But he still felt the smallest bit nervous, fumbling to zip up his jacket, realizing he had to take the bag off first before he could do so. Glanni had finally gotten himself situated-as far as his clothing went-just as a pair of headlights lit up the mostly dark parking lot, approaching slowly. 

Coming from around the front of the building, Glanni breathed a sigh of relief, seeing Íthró's ever-present smile behind the wheel. Pulling up to meet him exactly where he'd asked, Ithro didn't seem to be half as nerve-wracked as Glanni was. Weird, considering he'd all but broken his hand less than twenty minutes prior. 

But Glanni didn't say anything, didn't question it as he pulled on the passenger door's handle, swung the door open, and slid into the seat. The dancer threw his bag onto the floor, and reached behind his shoulder for the seatbelt, opening his mouth to speak. But he didn't get the chance. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have stepped in." 

The seatbelt made a quiet noise as it slid out of it's compartment, the click loud in the quiet car as Glanni buckled in. The dancer cleared his throat, shifted a bit in the seat so his head wasn't right against the roof of the car. Damn his height...

"Oh, no. Uhm, I actually wanted to...thank you? I usually have to deal with that shit myself and it's just, I don't know, it's nice to know that someone was looking out for me." The words felt a little forced. Could Ithro tell? 

Sneaking a glance beside him, Glanni caught the small smile the shorter man gave at his words. He caught the tiny flicker of something in those impossibly blue eyes, and he took note of how much happier the smaller man sounded the next time he spoke. Apparently, Glanni wasn't awful at this whole 'not being a dick' thing.

"Not a problem! Do you, uh...how are you with directions?" 

Glanni gave a small smile, crossing his legs now that he was comfortable. "Go out the back, turn left. You go straight, you hit a light, left again, it's six miles down that road, and you'll come to a green apartment building. Simple enough?" 

The shorter man gave a very soft laugh, one that Glanni could listen to on repeat for hours, and shifted gears. "Simple enough," he agreed, heading out the way Glanni instructed. 

It was a little awkward, with no radio, and nothing to really talk about. But, the dancer didn't want to waste this chance, so the second Ithro pulled out of the lot, the dancer started to speak. "You're from Iceland, right? Can you even drive legally here?" 

Another one of those soft laughs. Even though Glanni knew he shouldn't be staring at him, he couldn't help but smile himself when he saw the way Íthró's eyes crinkled a bit at the corners when he smiled. He couldn't help but lose his breath a little, when Ithro didn't stop smiling. 

"Yes, yes. I've been told I'm a very good driver anyway, so I don't think there would be a reason for us to get pulled over, even if I wasn't supposed to be driving." 

Glanni nodded a bit, reaching into his jacket pocket. His hand wrapped around two small objects, and with his free hand, he pushed down on the button to his right so he could roll down the window. "Is this your car then?" 

Ithro took the first left, licking his lips before answering. The bartender glanced over, raising an eyebrow, curious as to why the dancer beside him had rolled down the widow. But when he saw Glanni put half a cigarette between his lips, Ithro relaxed a bit. "Yes. A gift from my cousin, actuall-" 

A lighter clicked and all of a sudden an extremely unfamiliar and (in Íthró's opinion) unpleasant smell filled the car as Glanni took a drag off of /something/. Something that clearly was no cigarette. 

Thinking nothing of the situation, the dancer exhaled a large cloud out of the window-though the wind blew half of it right back in. He noticed Ithro had cut himself off, and looked over to the shorter man expectantly. 

But Ithro couldn't form words right now. Instead, the muscled man made a few small sounds, trying to start multiple different sentences all at once. It took a minute, but he finally composed himself, pressing down on the brakes as he approached a light. 

Ithro didn't look away from the road in front of him, just forced the words out, hoping Glanni wouldn't dance around the question. "What is that?" 

Confusion painted the taller man's face as he peered out the windshield, genuinely unsure what the other man was referring to. "What? I don't see anything." 

"That," Ithro replied softly, taking his injured, but now properly bandaged hand off of the wheel to point at the stick between Glanni's fingers. 

"Oh....it's a joint. Y'know, weed?" 

Ithro stayed quiet for a moment, and the silence made Glanni feel extremely uncomfortable. How in the world the dancer had just assumed that the other man would be okay with him smoking a joint in his car, neither of them could figure out in that moment. It wasn't that Ithro was even mad, just a little surprised. 

But for Glanni, with that silence starting to stretch on, he started to get in his head. Rather than toss it out of the car, though, he opted to take another hit, praying the silence would be broken soon. Thank god it was, too, because otherwise, the dancer would've surely lost it. 

"I've never tried it," the bartender said, answering a question no one asked. 

Glanni didn't mind, though. In fact, he appreciated it, it gave him just a little more insight on the person sitting beside him. Though Ithro did seem a little...sheltered, maybe, was the word Glanni would use, the other man certainly wasn't naive. Not the way Anton made it out to be, at least. Not from anything Glanni had noticed.

"I'm surprised your lipstick hasn't smudged." 

The comment took Glanni by surprise. One, because he couldn't believe that he just lit a joint in a practical stranger's car, and all that practical stranger could think of was to talk about his makeup. And two, because he thought the answer was obvious. 

The dancer raised two fingers up to his lower lip, painted a dusty rose color tonight, and pressed the pads of his fingertips to the color. He swiped a few times, then held up the two clean fingers to the driver, presenting them proudly. "Liquid lipstick is a dream. Doesn't move, no matter what I do with my mouth." 

Ithro swallowed, the implication not lost on him. But he let it go, pushed the thought from his mind. The car turned left, and the driver settled in for the six miles they were about to travel, seeming to be content with the lull in conversation. 

The passenger wasn't as satisfied, though, and started to sit up in the seat. Feeling just a little bit more loose now, a little more upbeat, the dancer looked out of his side of the car, firing off questions.

"Do you like it here? I mean, not Jersey itself, but America? Do you have any pets or anything? Do you even like animals? Sorry, I'm rambling a little...I just feel like we never get to really talk, you know? There's always a costumer or coworker interrupting."

Ithro shook his head a little, a stupidly bright smile plastered across his face. That was new...to find out that Glanni wished for them to interact. Ithro had just assumed Glanni knew he was out of the shorter man's league, that he only spoke to him between songs and shifts as a way to pass the time, to be friendly. 

Well, if Glanni wanted to talk, Ithro didn't mind. It's not like there was much else to do on this long stretch of road. He tried to answer the questions in order, smile showing through his voice. 

"I like the state as much as I like the country. I've lived in America before. I've visited London many times, as well. Very nice places...I've always liked to travel, I suppose. I don't have any pets, I love animals very much but I've never actually had a pet, I've always been too busy. Maybe now I would have the time., though. Oh, and you can ramble if you'd like, I don't mind." 

Glanni drank in all of the answers to his questions, taking one last hit off of the joint in his hand before carefully throwing it out of the half-open window. There was something in the way the words spilling from Íthró's lips were coated in not only a breathtaking accent, but the smile was clear in his tone. Ithro was always smiling, always happy. 

It was something Glanni wasn't sure if he resented or admired, but it filled his stomach with butterflies either way. And it made him almost sick, to know he was developing a /crush/. That hadn't happened in years, and of course, it ends up being a coworker of all people...

"Do /you/ have any pets?" 

"Oh." The question brought Glanni back into the moment, tearing him from his thoughts. "Yeah, yes. I have a skunk. His name's Sneaker and he's an asshole, but he's /my/ asshole, so I love him." 

Ithro blinked. "A...skunk? Like...with a white stripe? How did you manage that?" 

Glanni laughed brightly, loud and genuine. "I rescued him from illegal skunk trafficking." 

It wasn't particularly hilarious, but the comeback caused both men to give a chuckle, Ithro absent-mindedly gripping the steering wheel just a bit tighter, while the dancer crossed his legs and settled back comfortably in the seat. 

"You should meet him sometime," the pale man said, more thinking out loud than anything else. But just as the thought left his lips, Glanni noticed that water was starting to scatter across the windshield.

It came down in scattered splashes, no particular rhythm or pattern. No, in fact, it was starting to just come down a little harder with each drop. There was a small click from the driver's side of the car, and within seconds, the windshield wipers were going. 

The dancer slowly extended an open palm out the half-way rolled down window, closing his eyes as he felt the sharp sting of droplets hitting along his palm and wrist. It felt amazing, the way the water cleansed everything. 

"I love the rain," the taller man practically whispered, bringing his hand back inside the car, a genuine smile on his face. He rolled the window up, as to not completely drench the inside of the bartender's car. 

It wasn't often that Ithro got to see Glanni in such an honest state. The dancer seemed so content and relaxed beside him. If filled Íthró's chest with that familiar, slightly uncomfortable warmth. It made his head swim just a little and it made him tighten his grip on the steering wheel once again, biting his own lower lip through the pain of flexing his injured knuckles. 

"Thank you," Glanni's soft voice rang once more, pulling Ithro from his maddening thoughts. The shorter man glanced over beside him, taking note of how beautifully relaxed Glanni's face was as he watched the rain come down against the window. 

"For what?" He smiled a bit, unable to contain his amusement at how enthralled Glanni was with the rain. Approaching the building the taller man describe earlier, Ithro took his foot off of the gas pedal and it's coasted down Glanni's street, not exactly ready to let the night end here. 

"I don't know...I guess just for talking to me tonight."

As the car stopped, Glanni turned his head, and let his eyes meet Íthró's for the first time that night. Something seemed to happen every time the pair made eye contact. Something seemed to always set off when they matched stares. It wasn't anything awful, or even uncomfortable. But it was something intense. As if each man was looking into something, rather than at something. 

So neither of them spoke, they just looked at each other, both of them absent-mindedly holding their breath. Ithro didn't dare let go of the steering wheel, and Glanni didn't dare make a move to grab his bag from the floor. Neither man made any move to say anything, and the rain was coming down so hard against the windshield, it seemed as though the glass might crack and allow the car to be flooded. 

It could only last for so long though, before Glanni realized he needed to get out of there. Needed to stop thinking about how easy it would be for him to lean over and press his lips to the other man's. He needed to get out of the car before his impulsive nature took over as always, and he ruined whatever chance of friendship they had now. 

But he was a little on edge, as he unbuckled his seatbelt and let the belt slide through his fingers back into place. The dancer uncrossed his legs and bent forward some to grab his bag, turning his head to face Ithro once more, avoiding eye contact this time. 

Some combination of the weed, the rain, and the tension must've really gotten to him, because he couldn't even stop himself as he started to say the last thing that would help the situation. "Seriously, I owe you one. A big one. Hell, I'd even give you a lap dance in exchange for everything you've done for me tonight." 

Ithro paled. His knuckles stung again as he held on for dear life to the steering wheel, trying as hard as he could not to imagine what that would be like. To feel Glanni's body on his. To hear his breath in his ear. To feel his lips on his skin...

It was a good thing Glanni was already pushing the door open, murmuring a calm 'goodnight' as he stepped out of the vehicle and into the downpour outside. Because Ithro was truly unsure of he could've mustered up any sort of response that made any sort of sense right then. 

As Glanni walked up to his door, rain soaking through his only good jacket, he couldn't help but feel like a complete idiot for what he'd said as he was getting out. Of course Ithro would never want that, would never proposition him that way. It just would never happen, the two of them. 

And as Ithro pulled away from the apartment building, he was shaking his head, taking in deep, deep breaths. Because now that Glanni had put it out there, had offered it up so casually...it was only a matter of time before Ithro wouldn't be able to resist taking him up on the offer.


	7. Sweet and Sour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!

Neither Glanni nor Ithro seemed to be handling themselves well around the other. 

After the incident in the car, things were just..,different. Nothing drastic, no. But something was just the littlest bit off in the both of them, something that caused every interaction to somehow feel awkward. 

The bartender would avoid the dancer's eyes, constantly fidget whenever they were in close proximity. Of course, this was because the bartender couldn't shut his mind off and couldn't stop thinking about how good Glanni looked, how easily he seemed to make conversation, how casually he had offered what he offered. 

And of course, Glanni could only assume the way Ithro keep his eyes down and kept the conversations short, was because any number of people must've told Ithro all about him. Must've told him all about Glanni's intoxicated escapades, about hateful words that had left his lips, about just how horrible he was. About how he absolutely did not deserve a moment of the shorter man's time. And it's not as if a Glanni had done much to prove the reputation false. Offering a lap dance in exchange for a ride home? Absolutely ridiculous, the dancer had no idea what he was thinking. 

All of the overwhelming feelings the dancer suddenly had to deal with caused Glanni to keep his snark at an all-time high. Almost everything out of his mouth was some flirty line, or a backhanded insult. After all, he'd always believed that it's so much easier to accept that people dislike you if you give them a reason to. And, though he could see it on Ithro's face whenever he'd go just a little too far, he couldn't stop. 

Ithro, obviously, didn't understand. How could he, when he had so little to work with? Even though he'd heard the name 'Glanni Glæpur' get dragged through the mud multiple times in the two weeks he'd worked at the club, it didn't matter. It didn't take away from the absolutely magnetic and primal feeling he got whenever the taller man slid up to the bar and graced Ithro with his presence. It didn't take away from the attraction he felt. 

For four nights, this was how it went: two men, stealing glances at each other across a crowded club. Two men, at a loss for words, but desperately wanting to make conversation. Two men, each thinking that the other wanted nothing to do with them. 

Ithro kept up his usual routine, watching Glanni out of the corner of his eye, making sure that when and if the dancer happened to look over, he was quick to look away. It was a little harder now, Anton had sat the bartender down and asked if he'd be willing to do a little more for the club. 

Nothing extreme, no. Ithro would just have to make rounds on the floor every few hours, keep an eye out for patrons that got a little too handsy, a little too confident. The new task even came with a pay raise, on the condition that Ithro wouldn't punch anyone again. 

Glanni seemed to be avoiding him after the car ride. Ithro, instead of asking the taller man what was going on, simply assumed that it was because Ithro hadn't kept up too well with him in the car. Wasn't at the same level as the dancer. Or, maybe it was because of the way Ithro couldn't pull his gaze away from Glanni's at the end of the night. The muscled man couldn't help but wonder, did the dancer know how he felt? 

Of course, he didn't. Glanni had no idea. But the two men would never know, unless one of them just pushed past the tension, tried to get what they wanted. It was overwhelming for each of them, in it's own way. A situation neither of the two had ever had to deal with before. But, things always come to a head, whether you mean for them to or not. 

After after four days of this awkward dance the two had been doing, that's exactly what happened. 

\--

It was a day shift, like any other. Slow, quiet, a little depressing. No one was looking to get drunk, or get their rocks off at noon, and Anton had taken the day off. Which left Glanni, Ithro, and one other girl to work the club. Alone. Unsupervised. 

The music had been turned down, as there was no reason to give the employees a headache when there was only the occasional straggler coming in on a break from work, looking around for a moment before deciding it was much too dead to enjoy themselves. 

Ithro was taking advantage of the down time, back turned away from the bar, clipboard in hand as he took tally of all the unopened bottles lining the shelf. It was quiet, calm, a good pace for him. But, of course, it didn't stay that way. 

About fourty five minutes after both men arrived at the club for their shift, Glanni saw his chance, saw his space to slide in and break the tension. So he came up to the bar, sat himself down, and folded his hands in front of him. 

The dancer stayed there, in silence, for about six minutes, before Ithro tuned around. And when he did, the shorter man jumped, eliciting a smirk from Glanni. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!"

A nervous laugh came from the bartender as he set the clipboard down on the cherrywood, shaking his head. "No, no. Not scared-just surprised. How are you?" 

It shouldn't have felt so forced, this conversation. It shouldn't have felt like such a daunting task, to make eye contact with the impossibly beautiful man sitting just a few feet in front of him. But, somehow, it was. 

Glanni shrugged a little, crossing his arms over his bare chest casually. "I'm alright-hey, we never really talk, do we?" 

Ithro blinked, a little taken aback by the question. No, no they didn't...but he had just assumed that was because the dancer never wanted to. "I suppose not...were you looking to change that?" 

That warm and expectant smile came again, making Glanni's stomach do that awful fluttery thing again. And the dancer just nodded, tilting his head a bit to the side as he spoke again.

"Actually, yes." But what was there to say? 'I want to know everything about you'? No, that probably wouldn't go over too well. That would be /too/ much. So, instead, he opted for: "Tell me something about yourself. Anything." 

That smile never left, as Ithro thought for a moment, bringing two strong arms over his own chest now. The two men looked like they were in a sort of stand off, in these defensive positions. Maybe they were. 

"Alright-but then you have to tell /me/ something. Same rules." The dancer gave a small nod and Ithro looked to the side for a moment, considering what he should tell the taller man. 

Glanni was looking at him so expectantly, a somewhat bemused smirk on his face. And it made that heat rise up once more into the bartender's cheeks. Hoping that Glanni wouldn't notice the blush forming, Ithro finally decided what to say. 

"I used to compete, back in my home country. For medals and trophies. It was nothing serious, just some weight lifting competitions. I did aerobics for a while, too." 

Glanni's smirk had only grown, and he opted to put one elbow on the bar, resting his chin in his hand. Always painted black, his stiletto nails pressed gently against the pale skin on the lower half of his face as he supported himself, leaning forward a bit. 

"Why'd you stop?" 

Was this happening? Was Glanni really taking an interest in him, in what he had to say?

"I was getting too competitive. I always did well, but, I didn't want it to become my life. I had many friends I saw start to use things to enhance their performance and I didn't want to be that person. I guess I'm just someone who usually knows when to say no." 

'Usually.' Glanni repeated the word in his head a few times, silently hoping that there was a deeper meaning in Íthró's words. Though he knew, even though Ithro was now biting his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth, that Ithro would most likely never mean it the way Glanni hoped he had. 

"I guess I'm the opposite way," the dancer mumbled under his breath, looking off the the side for a moment, trying to calm his incessant thoughts. 

"Your turn." 

"Oh." The paler man turned his head back, meeting Íthró's eyes once more. And the intense urge to lean over the bar and get closer was still there, after almost a month of knowing this man. Glanni had never felt an attraction like this before, something so instinctual. It was surely going to kill him. 

"I used to do ballet." 

The shorter man's eyes seemed to light up at the confession, and he started to bounce on his toes excitedly. 

"Really!? You did? That's great! That takes a lot of skill and dedication, it is a big commitment to your body. Did you enjoy it?" 

Glanni couldn't help but genuinely smile at the fact that someone was showing interest in him, that he wasn't being made fun of for his past. He'd told one of the other girls that worked at the club once, and she'd all but thrown her head back laughing, going on about how 'gay' that was. As if it wasn't obvious that Glanni /was/ gay. 

"I loved it. But my parents stopped wanting to pay for it. Can't blame them, it was too expensive...I guess that's why I'm here. I liked the attention, you know? I'm good with my body and I liked to show off what I could do. This is kind of...well, not really. But it's /kind of/ the same thing." 

Ithro tilted his head a bit now, reminding Glanni a bit of a puppy dog. Actually, that was a /very/ good way to describe the man now giving him a somewhat sympathetic look. 

"Well, you are very good at what you do." 

The dancer stilled for a moment, watching as the bartender quickly broke eye contact, leaning under the bar and grabbing a glass, bringing it to rest atop the bar. 

So...had Ithro been watching him? Did he really mean that the way Glanni wanted him to? Did he like what he saw, or was he just humoring the sad man sitting across from him. Glanni wanted to ask, but before he could think of how to continue the conversation, he felt a familiar hold on his shoulder. 

That damned accent was in his ear again, much easier to hear today, with the music turned down so low. "I take one day off to run some errands. I stop by to check on my staff, and I find them sitting at the bar, flirting with my cousin. How do you think that makes me feel?" 

Ithro let out a noise that sounded somewhat like a huff, grabbing the clipboard off of the counter and turning on his heel, ready to get back to work. 

The dancer grit his teeth, reaching up to push away his manager's hand, hopping down off of the barstool a moment later. 

"I wasn't flirting, Anton. Ibuprofen would be so lucky. I was actually just getting back to work-since there are so many customers to service." 

A warm laugh came from the club owner, and he shook his head as he shoo'd Glanni away. It hurt the dancer the smallest bit, having to leave a conversation that was going so well. He couldn't even apologize, or end the exchange properly, because Ithro was turned away from him now. 

So he simply went off, went to go to the dressing room, maybe fix his makeup for the sixth time today. But more likely, to feel sorry for himself. 

Before the bartender knew it, though, his cousin was beside him behind the bar, having climbed over the top of it. 

"I told you to stay away from him, didn't I? He is not to be trusted, and I don't want you to-" 

"I'm not a child, Anton. I'm thirty three and perfectly capable of having a conversation with a coworker. Besides, I don't know what everyone is talking about, Glanni is always nice to me...or, as nice as he can be." 

"It is because he wants something from you." The manager shook his head, a slight frown on. "He calls you by the wrong name purposefully, do you think that is what nice people do?" 

Ithro couldn't help but laugh at that, a deep chuckle. "If that's the worst he does, I think I can handle it." 

Anton sighed in frustration, mumbling something about a gun as he started to walk toward the door of the employee bathroom. A strong hand gripped the silver doorknob, hesitating for a moment before pulling it toward him. He looked back at his cousin, quiet for a moment before he said his parting words, and though they fell on uninterested ears, the concern in the manager's tone was genuine. 

"Ithro...I can assure you, that won't be the worst thing he does."


	8. Push and Pull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it's time

The lights were low, the music was loud, the room is full of smoke and flashing lights, and everything smelled sickeningly sweet.

Maybe it was the whipped cream vodka he was pouring, or maybe it was the mix of all the cupcake and cotton candy scented perfumes the girls wore, but all Ithro knew was that he hated it. 

His eyes kept wandering across the floor, watching Glanni lose himself in a lap dance. He could see the dancer's face contorting into something that could've easily been read as pleasure, and he knew he would never be the cause of that. It was stressful, to know he had no chance. 

And because of that, the small ounce of attraction he felt towards Glanni couldn't be labelled as a crush. No way, not at all. Even if it did cause him to lean his elbows onto the bar, chin resting in his hand as he watched the dancer move. So graceful and skilled, so devastatingly beautiful. 

'Is he looking at me? Who am I kidding? Of course he's looking at me,' Glanni thought to himself. Some strange feeling inside of him wanted Ithro to be looking at him. It wasn't just lust anymore, no, this was something heavier. Something that weighed Glanni down. 

'What was that?' his regular customer he was grinding on asked, making him realize he'd spoken outloud. 

"Oh, just shut up and mind your business. You pay me to dance, not talk. That's extra." 

Great. Now this little infatuation was interfering with his work, and he really didn't need that. He kept trying to convince himself not to go over to the bar when he finished up his dance, but he just couldn't seem to help himself. He is one for attention, after all, and Ithro wasn't exactly hiding his interest in the dancer tonight. 

Now, Ithro made sure never to stare at Glanni's face when he watched him, but rather to keep his eyes lower. It made for a good excuse if he was ever questioned-he'll just say he was watching to make sure none of the costumers were getting handsy. 

It was difficult to not bite his lip at times, when he saw the younger man's hips flex and cause his waistband to shift, exposing just a centimeter more of flesh on his abdomen. And sure, it was frustrating to know that those pale thighs would never be under Íthró's fingertips.

And, of course, it was extremely infuriating that all Glanni seemed to have to offer to a conversation was sarcastic comments and quick quips. Though, it's not as if Ithro was any better at making conversation. 

But that was all fine in the long run, because this was a paying gig and even if it was the most downright torturous thing to put himself through, he still got to watch. 

He saw the dancer's lips move, watched his head turn back to the man underneath him, and couldn't help but feel a small flare of jealousy. Was he whispering sweet nothings to his customer? Was that why he was the most popular worker in here?

Whatever it was didn't seem to do much, though, because the second the song was over, the man readily pushed Glanni off of his lap, which made the muscled man smirk just the tiniest bit. To know that he wouldn't have to suffer through watching his crush-no, not crush-go at it for another whole four minutes. 

In fact, luck seemed to be on Íthró's side, as the taller man came sauntering over to the bar. The pair had been exchanging words a bit more frequently lately, despite that they were usually always getting interrupted, it wasn't quite as awkward as it was before. 

"That sure looked like fun," Ithro offered sarcastically, not moving from his bored-looking position at the bar. 

"It must have been, since you were watching the entire time," snapped back, taking a sarcastic bow. "Can I get a Shirley Temple...if you can keep your eyes on the bar long enough?" 

Ithro raised an eyebrow, finally moving back and dropped to his knees so he could reach a glass beneath the counter. "Hey, I had no customers and that guy seemed sketchy. Wouldn't you rather I keep an eye out for wandering hands than stare at the same seventy bottles of cheap liquor all night?" 

"Oh? That man that's literally been here every day for the last 23 days you've worked here seemed sketchy?" He leaned forward some, trying to be heard over the music. "Hey, Ibuprofen. Have I ever told you that I like the way you look on your knees?" 

He was feeling strangely confident tonight, feeling like maybe he could finally push past the awkward dance they'd been doing recently. Glanni hopped up onto the bar, swinging his legs over to Íthró's side, and crossing them carefully. 

Íthró looked up at Glanni, giving a small smirk as the dancer called him out. And he was going to banter right back, opening his mouth to speak. He was cut off abruptly though, when he heard Glanni's tone dip just a bit, commenting on the bartender's current position.

The implication shook him for a moment, causing him to fumbling with the glass in his hands, the cup falling on the concrete floor and shattering. 

Ithro didn't even acknowledge the broken glass, moving over a few inches on the floor and reaching for another, only to tense up seconds later when he saw two black pumps swing over the counter. 

And, oh, god, how good those made Glanni's legs look...good enough that Ithro stayed quiet now, closing his mouth (which was still stupidest hanging open), as he stood and started to fix the drink, avoiding looking at anything other than the liquid he was pouring into the cup.

Glanni took note of the reaction, of how easy it was to get Ithro to fumble around to the point of shattering a glass over him. All he had to do was get close, and he could make this happen. 

Glanni hopped off the counter and got down onto the floor, attempting to pick up a couple of the larger chunks of broken glass. "You know, Maybe instead of getting all quiet, you could tell me how you think I look on mine." 

Íthró's mouth was in a tight line as he finished the drink off, setting the glass on the bar and closing his eyes for a minute, letting out a slow breath. He turned on his heel, making eye contact once again with the dancer on the floor. And, Christ, what a sight it was. 

"You look great," he said casually, trying not to absolutely marvel at the sight of Glanni looking up at him, knees against the probably much too cold floor, pale skin seeming to glow under the neon lighting of the 'Open Bar' sign. "But you're going to cut yourself-it's fine, I have a broom back here." 

"Wouldn't be the first time I got cut in this place." 

The shorter man started to walk away, and Glanni thought he'd messed up his only chance. But Ithro returned a moment later, brook in hand, already opening his mouth to speak again. "Well, I don't want you getting hurt. Besides, don't you need to get back on the floor?"

Being this close to the bartender, it was easier to watch Ithro's body language around him though, and if there was one thing he knew, it was body language. Ithro was trying to hide whatever he was feeling towards him, and it showed. 

"You care if I get hurt?" Glanni's voice must've shown some sort of surprise, because the bartender finally made eye contact, nodding slowly. 

Motioning for Glanni to stand, Ithro sighed some. "Of course I care if you get hurt. I wouldn't have hit that guy last week if I didn't." 

"Right. How's your hand by the way?"

"Holding up," he mumbled, grabbing the drink he'd made from the counter, passing off the Shirley Temple to Glanni. Being this close to the dancer was making him feel the slightest bit lightheaded, and he realized he didn't have it in him to give the same snark back to the dancer. 

After sweeping the broom over the mess, and then bending to push the dustpan against the debris, Ithro carried the mess to the garbage can at the end of the bar. 

He returned to Glanni, a playful smirk on the shorter man's face. He wasn't the best at banter, but when he /could/ muster it up, it was usually packed with a punch. Watching the taller man sip his drink, he leaned his back to the bar, his jean-clad thigh touching Glanni's bare one as he spoke.

"Too bad you're off the clock. You were my last customer, I was gonna buy a dance from you before I left."

Glanni choked a bit on his drink as the words left Ithro's lips. Glanni Glæpur was never one to be caught off guard, but that was the /last/ thing he'd expected to hear from the shorter man. 

He searched frantically in his mind for the right thing to say. "You?" he laughed a bit as he said it, more nervous than amused. "Really?"

Ithro glanced over his shoulder, smirk still plastered on his face. He couldn't help but notice Glanni choke on the drink. He couldn't help but Glanni's facade drop for a minute. Whether it was because he was caught off guard or into the idea, Ithro still got a reaction out of him, and even that was enough. 

It took a moment of searching with his eyes, but he spotted the manager of the club in the far left corner, currently seated and getting a dance from one of the younger girls who worked there. And most likely on the clock, too. Well, if they could get away with it...

A new song came on, a little bit faster than the last, and without any kind of warning, Ithro turned his head back to look at Glanni's profile, leaning in some. How far could he take this? How serious /was/ he about giving him a dance? No time like the present to find out. 

"You know...if you don't mind hanging around for a couple minutes, there's a few chairs open. You really up for it?" 

Doing anything outside of the club was just far too risky, and he didn't wanna offer up anything serious yet anyway, not knowing if the taller man was bluffing or not. But in the car, he'd seemed rather sincere about the offer of a dance...

Glanni bit at his lip and grinned, reaching out to grab Ithro by the hand. And, christ, finally touching the man who'd been getting to him this way for weeks felt absolutely electric. 

Glanni led the shorter man to the furthest empty chair, nestled in the dark of a corner where the lights didn't quite reach. 

Glanni was a professional, always had been-or at least, tried to be. And never once had he gotten nervous before a dance. But, as he placed a delicate hand on either of Íthró's broad shoulders, he felt a twinge of something that almost made him stop. 

It was a combination of nerves and excitement, when he locked eyes with Íthró's and pushed him down into the chair.


	9. Sex and Candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH? Ahhh. Is this smut? I don't know. Have it anyway.

Now, Ithro was strong. No doubt about that. Both physically and as far as will goes. But when Glanni took his hand-had the nerve to actually made skin to skin contact, he melted completely.

Ithro felt like a fucking puppy dog being led by an owner, the way he just submitted and let Glanni pull him. But-he couldn't lie and say he wasn't fine with it. Excitement bubbled first, somewhere deep in his chest, and it made him practically blush, the idea that he was going to know what a Glanni™ Dance was like first hand, after watching them for so long.

But a different feeling came when he turned to face the taller man, and was easily pushed back into the chair. Biting his lip rather hard, Ithro looked up expectantly at Glanni, making sure to keep eye contact even as he felt a small, nagging hint of anxiety form within. 

Thoughts and possibilities flew through his mind, such as: holy shit what if he gets hard and Glanni stops? What if Glanni walks away right now? What if Ithro can't control himself and moans or god forbid touches him...the possibilities were endless and overwhelming. 

Mind racing, he realized he had no idea what Glanni's rate was, and finally cleared his throat to speak. "Ah-how much...?"

Glanni quickly put his finger to Ithro's lips and held it there. Then, swiftly, he placed his heeled foot on the chair directly between Ithro's legs before leaning down to whisper in his ear "I owe you, remember?" 

Ithro could only nod dumbly, letting his hands rest of the arms of the couch, trying as hard as he could not to fuck this up before it even began. He couldn't handle that, having the one thing he wanted so badly ripped away so quickly. 

"Tell ya' what...you can touch me, but you can't talk." The taller man dropped to his knees, running his hands slowly down Íthró's thighs, starting at each hip, never breaking eye contact as he did. "Are you ready?"

Íthró's breath was gone, seeing Glanni drop to his knees was like something out of a goddamn wet dream. His hear rate spiked and his skin felt like it was on fucking fire. It wasn't that he was a virgin-not even close. But it had been a long while, and this was /Glanni/, and if he didn't stop teasing him soon, Ithro was going to end up a pleading mess. 

The shorter man's eyes widened and he tensed some, flexing his hips when when the dancer put his hands on him. Biting his lip hard enough it would probably bruise, he nodded slowly, probably a little /too/ ready. 

But, Ithro made sure not to speak a word, careful to follow instructions. He kept his hands on either arm of the chair, trying not to press into the younger man's touch, not daring to break eye contact first, though everything was starting to feel too intense to be comfortable. 

With the nod of Ithro's head, Glanni was off. He broke the eye contact and spun around quickly to his feet on his heels. From waist up, he bent forward, his legs opening a bit. 

Ithro was much shorter than him, especially with Glanni in heels, and it caused Glanni's ass to be right at Ithro's eye level. He was showing off now, no doubt about that. But he couldn't help it. Ithro was the first 'customer' he'd been interested in 'pleasing' in a long time. 

"Now, I know you can't respond..." Glanni yelled over the music, dropping down to sit directly on his 'clients' lap for a moment before moving. "But I want you to know I've wanted this for a long time." 

Watching Glanni was pure torture. Yes, he'd seen his form many times before, but that was alway across a bar. Across a smoky room. It was always stolen glances that left him imagining. But not now-he could make out every curve of the taller man's body, make out every dip and line, make out the way the glitter hot pants the dancer always wore were right enough to almost cut into his skin when he bent forward. And god, the anticipation was the worst part. 

Trying to focus everything he had on not getting hard right now, Ithro closed his eyes tightly and let his fingers dig into the plush material on the arms of the chair, knuckles practically white as he let out a frustrated sigh. 

A small gasp escaped his lips, feeling Glanni's weight on his lap. And, god, was it better than he imagined. Though, he couldn't help but wonder if the taller man was serious. If he really wanted this as badly as the shorter man did. 

And he didn't mind letting Glanni talk, not at all. Even if it was just some script he used on every client that walked in the door, it was getting to Ithro right now in the worst (best) way.

Glanni could feel Ithro's body tensing beneath him as he kept his seat on the center of his lap, grinding down a little harder, and hoping to feel a little more against him. 

"You know, we could get out of here after this. It'd be nice to spend some time with you without the prying eyes round here, picking me apart for whoring it up for the new guy." 

Glanni settled in, pressing his back close to the bartenders chest, reaching one arm up behind him. A confident hand found it's way to Íthró's hair, fingers tangling in gently for a moment as the dancer turned his head. Without any warning, Glanni leaned in and licked a clean stripe up over the bartenders cheek, pulling away and releasing the shorter man a moment later. 

Without a second thought, Íthró let out a soft whimper, shuddering as he instinctively rolled his own hips up, half-hard and slack jawed. The muscular man bit his lip hard enough to probably bruise, but that didn't matter right now. Nothing mattered right now except Glanni. 

He was thankful he wasn't allowed to talk yet, because if he could, his voice would give away just how much he was enjoying this. How much he wanted Glanni's words to be true, to not be an act. But for now he just closed his eyes let his hands find home on Glanni's waist, finally remembering he was at least given permission to do /that/.

Ithro pressed his fingertips into the prominent dips of the slender man's hips, not holding him in place, but rather letting the dancer move and just admiring the grace of it. 

The sudden sensation of Ithro's grip On his hips was enough to make Glanni audibly moan, loud enough that he knew Ithro heard the gasp even over the loud music lost to Glanni over the clubs speakers.

He moved his hands to Ithro's thighs and dug his nails in just hard enough to make him react beneath his body. Glanni had never become sexually aroused while giving a dance to someone before, but the feeling of Ithro writhing beneath him had done just that. 

Standing, gracefully, Glanni spun on his heel to face Ithro, and then reclaimed his seat on his lap, this time facing him, letting his knees support his weight on either side of Íthró's legs. 

"Enjoying yourself, I see? Well, feel, rather." The dancer let his hips move downward, pressing into the shorter man's, as if to accentuate the point. When he spoke again, his voice was absolutely laced with lust, his hands moving to hold onto those strong shoulders beneath him. "I'm gonna give you permission to talk now, I'll allow it for you." 

He hoped he didn't sound desperate, because Glanni Glæpur was never desperate for anyone or anything. But something inside of him was begging for Ithro's approval of him. And it knotted his stomach in a way completely foreign to him.

Íthró head was spinning, lip was probably split at this point from how hard he was biting it, and his hands would most absolutely be shaking if they weren't holding onto the dancer's much too soft skin. He was about to break, about to moan out when he felt Glanni push against him. 

But then he heard a noise that seemed to drown out the heavy bass, the generic synth, the colored lights, the smoke and booze of the whole club. A noise that made his stomach flip and cock twitch, and before he could even process anything else, the weight was suddenly gone and Ithro realized he was holding his breath. 

Letting it out in a heavy breath, he figured the dance must be over, as the song was just switching-but in seconds the weight returned to his lap, causing the shorter man to tense up again, listening closely to Glanni's tone. And it was clear to Ithro that this was just a game, just an act the dancer was putting on. 

That's fine, Ithro thought to himself, because it's not like he had /real/ feelings for Glanni. No way. This was just...for fun. For both of them. So, why not play a little? Without warning, Íthró put his strength to use, silently positioning Glanni so that if either of them were to move even the slightest, there would be no way for either of them to deny to the other that they were both enjoying this. 

One hand returned to Glanni's waist, thumb hooking into those hot pants at the taller man's hip, Ithro's other hand moving up over Glanni's chest slowly, palm flat against his pale skin, until he finally reached up and tangled his fingers in Glanni's short hair. 

Looking up now, eyes blown and half-lidded, accent just a tad thicker than normal, he finally spoke, making direct eye contact with the man in his lap. "Feels like I'm not the only one enjoying themselves right now, Glanni," he smirked barely, rolling his hips up slowly, letting out a soft sigh as he finally felt friction against his obvious hard-on. "Don't you dare stop moving..."

Overwhelmed by the sudden sensation of Ithro's hands roaming his body, Glanni knew perfectly well that if he didn't do something to remove himself from the situation, or at the very least, postpone it a bit, lest he end up cumming right then and there. 

A growl grew in Glanni's chest and forced its way into his throat as he slammed his hand into the smaller mans chest, pinning him to the back of the chair. "I said that you could /touch/," he hissed through his teeth. "I didn't say that you could have your way with me."

Glanni slid himself back on Ithro's lap, stopping to sit right at the edge of the smaller mans knees. "And, 'don't you dare stop moving?'"

Glanni's thoughts were not his own. His body was twelve steps ahead of him, adrenaline working him up to a point where he wasn't thinking. Carefully, two pale hands reached down and started to unfasten the button on Ithro's jeans. 

The dancer looked up and met the shorter man's eyes, searching for signs of protest. Signs of hesitation. But there were none. If anything, all Glanni saw was a fire that matched his own, and it only excited him more. 

The dancer leaned forward some as he slid down a zipper, pushed denim material out of the way, and let his hand wrap around Ithro, pulling his member from it's fabric barricade. 

Slowly, Glanni started to move his wrist in even motions, grip tightening the smallest bit as he spoke softly, close to Íthró's ear. "You want me to stop moving now?" 

If only Ithro knew how much more Glanni wanted from him right now, and how much more he was ready, and willing, to give.

There were many things that Íthró was careful not to be around Glanni. For one, although he could absolutely pull off a handstand right on top of the bar, he never wanted to be a show off-sometimes that worked when trying to charm someone-but Íthró knew full and well that Glanni wouldn't respond to that. 

He tried not to be rude, tried not to be aggressive, even when the dancer put on that one tone that always got under the muscular man's skin. And lastly, he tried everything in his power not to be a bumbling idiot around the much too attractive man that was now-by some wild turn of events-sitting in his lap, grinding against him. 

But sometimes it was hard not to break the last one-especially when he first heard a zipper, felt a small pull at his waist, and then...oh god, were those Glanni's long fingers gracefully wrapping around him? His eyes rolled back and he couldn't help but pull on Glanni's waistband with his thumb, begging for the stripper to come closer, to flex his hips, to do /anything/. 

The shorter man let out a ragged breath, throat much too dry to even try to respond at the moment. Normally, he would be panicking, he would be self conscious (out of fear that someone else would see them, he had almost no qualms about his own physique, he worked quite hard on that), he would be angry that Glanni thought he could do whatever he wanted. 

But the truth of the matter was that he /could/, and Íthró wouldn't mind one bit. And Glanni was looking at him-was /watching/ him and biting his lip and, god, it was too much. 

Instead of an actual answer, he let his fingers tangle in short brown locks. A knee-jerk reaction, overwhelmed by the feeling of stimulation an desire, Ithro suddenly pulled the taller man down and let their lips crash against each other as he started to thrust into the younger man's touch. 

Their noses bumped a little awkwardly at first, but it didn't stop Íthró from pressing his half-open mouth to Glanni's, moaning loudly and eagerly from low in his throat, desperately moving his mouth with the younger man's, holding him close as the dancer worked him with his hand. 

He knew he was breaking every rule imaginable, he knew that Glanni would probably shove him away and laugh at him for getting so worked up, for being like everyone else that came through here, desperate and needy and at the dancer's mercy. 

But he couldn't stop himself, not when he was surrounded by the scent of cotton candy and bubblegum and pure sex, not when he felt like his skin was on fire, not when he could feel Glanni's dick through the tight hot pants, pressed against his leg. 

Maybe, possibly, there was some small chance that it /wasn't/ an act. Maybe Glanni had thought about this before, too. 

There was nothing that ever could have prepared Glanni for the rush of emotions that tore through him the moment he felt Ithro's lips crash into his. Glanni wasn't one for feelings at all, let alone ones that made him question absolutely everything about himself. 

He wasn't even sure what to call the sweet swirling heat that was radiating from his heart and into his lungs, tightening his chest and laboring his breathing into a whiney, panting mix of moans and gasps, firing off whenever the two broke their contact to gasp in oxygen. 

Working girls have their rules, and Glanni NEVER kissed a client. But at this point, there was at least one thing he was absolutely sure of, and it was that Ithro was far more than 'just a client.' So what exactly was he?

Glanni's tongue parted the smaller man's lips with stern force and danced its way gracefully around his mouth, drinking in the warmth. 

It was exactly as fast and adrenaline-filled as either of the men could've predicted it would've been. But it wasn't bad, no. If anything, it was exciting. 

It was better than the fantasies, because it was real and it was happening right now and their bodies were starting to work together, as if they were just meant to touch one another. 

Ithro's heart was pounding louder than the music on the speakers, pulling back from Glanni's mouth to let his own lips start trailing heated kisses down over the pale skin on Glanni's neck. 

The dancer's hand sped up some, his movements becoming much more determined as he tightened his grip and started to breathe a little heavier, the attention on his neck making him flex his own hips now. 

Ithro wanted to do something other than dig his nails into Glanni's hips, wanted to do something other than pant hot breath against the dancer's skin. He wanted to do something more than let a choked noise fall past lips. 

Ithro wanted to do anything except cause everything to come to a screeching halt, spilling over the dancer's still-active knuckles, slumping back a bit in the chair. 

The bartender wanted to hold Glanni for a moment, wanted to ask if everything was okay, if this was just a one-time thing. But he had no time. As quickly as Glanni had escalated the situation, he was already moving off of the shorter man's lap. 

He didn't bother to wipe off his shaking hand, as he pulled Íthró's own two palms off of his waist. He didn't say anything for a moment, his chest feeling tight. He knew he'd gone too far, and he knew that Ithro didn't even have a chance really to stop him. 

And that was probably the only reason the bartender let it go so far. 

So the dancer got up from his client's lap, swallowing hard as he pushed away. He didn't even let Ithro speak the words he was trying to get out, opening and closing his mouth rapidly as he tried to find the right way to ask Glanni to stay. 

"Now we're even," Glanni said with just the smallest hint of sadness, turning on his heel and heading for the dressing room, cursing himself for letting his hands ruin yet another good thing.


	10. Sad and Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is pretty much here just to set up the next one, so I apologize in advance if it isn't the best. Read on.

Glanni didn't leave his bed for three days after the lap dance incident. 

He had turned his phone off the morning after, not ready to deal with Anton calling him and telling him he undoubtedly didn't have a spot at the club anymore. He knew he'd fucked up this time. 

He knew it the second he got up from Íthró's lap that night. He knew it the very moment that he heard a soft voice behind him as he walked away, anxiously asking where he was going. 

He knew it as he washed his hands in the employee bathroom, rubbing his hands together so hard that they felt raw. 

Glanni knew he'd gone too far, when he came out of the dressing room after gathering his things, Ithro nowhere in sight. But it didn't register just how badly he'd fucked up until the dancer left out the side door, headed to his bus stop, and noticed Íthró's car wasn't in it's usual spot. 

He could only assume that the shorter man would've told his cousin by now, and Glanni was honestly a bit surprised that Anton hadn't shown up at his apartment to deck him. 

He knew, rationally, that he should just man up and go back to the club. Maybe even try to apologize to the sad puppy dog of a man he'd undoubtedly hurt...but he couldn't. 

All Glanni was capable of doing was lying in his own bed, feeling terribly sorry for himself, alternating between crying and rambling nonsense off to the ever-happy ball of black and white fluff that cuddled close to his side throughout the downward spiral. 

On the third day of wallowing, a sleepy skunk curled up on his chest, Glanni decided he'd had enough. 

He was Glanni Glæpur, after all, and he wasn't about to let some bartender get to him. Not like this. He had to push through it, no matter how much he wanted to pretend like his actions wouldn't have consequences. 

So, on that third day, Glanni finally got out of bed. He pushed his furry friend gently from his comfortable position, apologizing softly a moment later, as he rose and headed to his bathroom to shower. 

A cleansing ritual was exactly what he needed, letting hot water run over his skin and help him to feel the slightest bit more clean. He could go on. He would surely go on. 

He'd soon forget about all of this, maybe find a new club to dance at...one where there were no stupidly attractive, always smiling, sweet as pie bartenders. 

Ah, there it was again. The awful thoughts. The thoughts he couldn't escape. Thoughts of someone Glanni knew he didn't deserve, knew he shouldn't even be thinking about. Thoughts of something he almost had the chance to have, but not quite. He knew he couldn't dwell on it forever, that he had to face this-maybe even fix it. But where to start? 

After stepping out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel, and taking a deep breath, Glanni headed back to his room. The pale man sat on the edge of his bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping skunk still cuddled in the tangled mess of blankets atop the mattress. 

With a disgusting and downright overwhelming amount of anxiety settled into his chest, Glanni reached for his phone from the bedside table. He pressed down on the power button, dreading whatever nasty messages would be waiting for him when it finally powered on. 

When the small device's screen did light up, though, there was nothing. At least, not until the phone registered a signal. When the connection was strong enough, after about twenty seconds or so, a wave of missed call notifications littered the screen. 

It almost tired the dancer's thumb to scroll through the Facebook notifications, the 'missed call' and 'one new voicemail' messages that filled his lock screen. But he scrolled anyway, looking for one specific name. And when he found it, he was a little confused. He only saw the first couple words, and they didn't seem like they were angry at all.

Glanni swiped right to open the text from Anton, dated the morning after the lap dance incident. The dancer had expecting a long stretch of vulgar insults and threats, but that's not what it was at all. In fact, he had to re-read the words a couple times before he could really process what they said. 

'I'm so sorry to hear you aren't feeling well. Íþrótaálfurinn told me you got very sick last night. He seemed concerned, how like him. Take the rest of the week off, Elizabeth will cover. Do me a favor and actually rest, though, I need my top dancer at peak performance.' 

Glanni could barely believe that the words he was reading were real. Ithro...covered for him? After everything? Glanni was...in the clear? Didn't have to answer for just not showing up for work? Was this real? Why on earth would the bartender do something like that for someone so...so undeserving? 

Glanni couldn't figure it out for the life of him. But, after locking his phone once more and tossing it lazily onto his pillow, he decided he didn't want to. He wouldn't look this gift horse in the mouth, wouldn't waste a second chance. 

The dancer sat on the edge of the bed in his much too quiet bedroom for a good few minutes. He played over everything in his head, a sort of fantasy where everything was okay. He'd go back to work, walk right up to the bar, apologize to Ithro and then keep his distance afterward. 

Yeah. Yeah, maybe he could do that. Maybe he could show a little self control just this once. Maybe he could save this, maybe even get the shorter man to forgive him. After all, Ithro couldn't be /too/ mad if he was willing to lie to his own cousin-his boss-to cover for the dancer...right? 

Glanni couldn't think about it anymore, or it would drive him mad. That was the last thing he needed. In fact, what he needed right now was to get the hell out of his bedroom, out of his apartment. 

The tall man stole a glance at the clock on his dresser across the room, deciding that three pm was as good a time as ever to start the day. 

He stood slowly, feeling just a little lightheaded from all the sudden activity, after being down for the count for days on end. But he pushed through the dizzying feeling to make his way to his closet. Though he didn't have the energy to get made up today, he had to at least get dressed. 

Though he knew he needed to force himself to get out if this slump, Glanni couldn't even bring himself to dress up, either. Which is why the dancer decided to throw on a simple tee shirt and sweatpants, letting out a deep sigh as he searched the laundry basket in the bottom of his closet for socks. 

Unfortunately, there were none. Which meant he couldn't wear sneakers-and his outfit definitely didn't call for heels, which meant he'd have to wear slippers...in /public/. Sweatpants were one thing, but shoes completely made an outfit. 

Ah, well...there /was/ a decent amount of laundry in the basket he was kneeling in front of. And maybe that would be a good start, shifting back into the pace of the real world. And productive, too. Besides, no one at the laundry mat would care-or even notice-if he was wearing slippers. 

Yes, the dancer decided, this was definitely a good idea. Opting for a drawstring garbage bag (a much easer way to transport the laundry the two blocks up the street to the mat), Glanni sorted out everything he absolutely needed to have washed before returning to work. 

Begrudgingly, he found a not all too awful pair of slippers he wouldn't mind being seen in, and slipped them on. With a sigh, he slung the garbage bag over his shoulder, grabbed a handful of quarters from the change jar in his kitchen, and headed out the door. 

A nice walk, some fresh air, and a task at hand would surely keep his mind busy. Even if just for an hour or two, at least it would be something.


	11. Fear and Loathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^) man I sure do love to draw everything out

It had been three days, and Íthró's anxiety wasn't seeming to falter in the slightest. 

The night everything happened was still a bit of a blur. All Ithro could really remember was the heat that had coursed through his veins. He remembered the goosebumps that rose on his skin when he had Glanni close. Ithro remembered the half-lidded look the dancer in his lap had given him, and the soft sounds the taller man made. 

He also remembered that he somehow managed to collect himself enough the encounter to be able to get himself home. He'd somehow managed to just put himself away, take a few deep breaths, and sneak out the front door without anyone noticing the tears in his eyes. 

Somehow, that night, Ithro managed to make it to his car, even in the woozy and nauseous state he'd been in. He managed to fumble his keys into the ignition and make it all the way home to his apartment. Only when he was home, did he break down. 

He didn't cry because he regretted it, or because he felt some sort of embarrassment for allowing everything to happen in public. No, the muscled man didn't cry because he felt used, or even because he was upset with Glanni. 

Ithro cried that night because he hadn't had the courage to hold Glanni tighter. He cried because he had no idea if Glanni was upset with him, with the way the dancer pulled away so quickly.

Ithro had cried that night, animalistic sobs from somewhere deep in his chest, because he had been so close to getting the words out-so close to asking Glanni to stay with him-and he hadn't been able to. And even though that night he somehow managed to calm himself down enough to sleep, the next day didn't get any easier. 

Glanni didn't show up for his shift, and in a moment of guilted panic, he'd covered for the dancer to their manager. Ithro hoped that Glanni just needed a day to cool off, and that he'd be back for his next shift, sharp as a tack and dressed to kill. Or, maybe even, the dancer was actually just sick, and none of it had meant anything to the taller man at all. 

The bartender figured he would get answers when Glanni did eventually return to work, but that day had yet to come.

True, it had only been three days, but with all the overwhelming weight of the situation bearing heavy on Íthró's strong shoulders, and it made the wait seem everlasting. 

The anxiety was eating away at him, making it impossible for him to focus when he was at work. On the clock, he was constantly watching the door, praying he'd see Glanni's familiar figure walk through the frame. 

He'd stare off at a far wall of the club ten minutes at a time, letting his thoughts race. A customer would order a Shirley Temple, and Íthró's throat would go dry at the reminder of Glanni's absence. 

Home life was no better. No amount of push-ups or breathing exercises were enough to distract or calm the muscled man. He was just slowly rotting away internally, holding onto small strings of hope that everything would work itself out. 

It had gotten so bad one night, he'd considered just driving to Glanni's apartment building. He'd considered going to each door and knocking until he found what he was looking for. 

But that thought was quickly dismissed, because for all Ithro knew, everything was fine and the dancer really did just need some time off from work. 

Ithro had even considered, at one point, asking Anton if he'd heard anything from Glanni. Ultimately, the bartender decided against that, though, knowing that would only stir suspicious from his cousin. 

So he tried the best he could to manage-to distract himself. He tried television, workouts, reading, even listening to music. But nothing seemed to work. That is, until this morning when he'd spilled some tea on his kitchen counter. 

Ithro had cursed under his breath, annoyed at himself for being so clumsy, and quickly cleaned the mess up. He'd been so focused on the task at hand that when the job was done, he hadn't realized that seven minutes had passed...which gave him an idea.

He started to deep clean the entire one-bedroom apartment. Starting with the rest of the modestly sized kitchen, he scrubbed almost every inch. It was almost manic, the cleaning frenzy he went into. 

It went the same for the each room, not a single surface going untouched, not a single item being left out of rearrangement. Aggressive dusting of the coffee table in the living room, intense scrubbing of the porcelain in the bathroom, careful organization of the books on his shelf in the bedroom. 

For hours on end, Ithro kept himself busy this way. But there was only so much to do in a one bedroom apartment. After six continuous hours of work, Ithro was left standing in his own bedroom, hopelessly looking around for something else to do. 

It took a few minutes to figure it out, but after poking around his freshly organized closet a bit, he realized there was in fact one thing left to do. Two loads of laundry sat in a hamper beneath the multi-colored hangers lining the top of the closet. Though, there were no machines on site for him to use. 

Which meant, of course, that Ithro would need to go to the laundromat a few miles up the road. Which he didn't mind, maybe it would be good, to get out of the house for a little while. Some fresh air might clear his head, make things easier. 

\---

And so, sitting on the empty sorting table in the much too fluorescent lighting, Ithro mindlessly swung his short but strong legs back and forth. Waiting for two washers full of his own clothing to spin out, the muscular man tried to keep his mind clear. 

And it was going well, in the quiet of the mostly dead laundromat. In fact, you could even say it was going good. 'Was' being the operative word. 

Fifteen minutes into the wash cycle, Ithro was pulled from his throughs when he heard the small bell tied to the handle of the front door, signaling a new customer was entering the building. He glanced over out of sheer curiosity, and regretted that decision immediately. 

Realizing exactly what he was looking at, Íthró's breath caught in his throat, and his heart dropped to his stomach. This was supposed to be a simple chore, a little time away from reality. And it was going so well, too...

you know, it's hard to escape reality when the one thing you're trying to avoid thinking about walks through the door.


	12. Washing and Drying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They finally take care of their dirty laundry. HAHAHAHAHAHA get it?
> 
> I have re written this seven times and honestly just please take it I hope it satisfies the MULTIPLE people who have been talkin' to me in the comments and on tumblr about this fic. I can't believe anyone is even interested, let alone invested in it?? It's such a blessing and I appreciate every single one of you who have interacted with me in regards to this story. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all. Also, feel free to yell at me for typos, formatting, and the multitude of run-on sentences.

When Glanni walked into the laundromat and immediately made eye contact with Ithro, the world seemed to stop. 

The weight of the garbage bag on his shoulder seemed non-existent in comparison to the crushing weight the dancer felt on his chest. And the worst part was that this one moment seemed to never end. A million thoughts were racing through Glanni's mind, fight or flight kicking in instantaneously. Yet somehow, he could not move. 

Frozen in place in the doorway, Glanni's stormy grays met icy blues in a silent stand off. There were so many things he wanted to do in that moment, but only two real options seemed logical. 

The first option was to turn around and go home, avoid this for even longer. He could forget about this run-in, return to his warm bed and sweet furry baby for the rest of the weekend. 

If he did that, though, it would only look like Glanni had let Ithro affect him. And that simply wouldn't do. 

So, the dancer went with the second option-which was to tear his gaze away from the shorter man's, take a deep breath through his nose, and take a few steps forward. 

Completely ignoring Ithro, Glanni tossed the bag of clothes down casually onto the table. With eyes cast downward, he pulled the drawstrings on the bag open and started to pull everything out, praying that he could just do his laundry and be on his way. 

Ithro, still seated on the very sorting table the taller man was optimizing, furrowed his brows in confusion. Was Glanni not even going to throw him a simple 'hello'? The shorter man's heart sunk even further, his legs stilling. At least it was clear now, that the entire exchange a few nights ago meant nothing to Glanni. 

The muscled man couldn't say exactly the same, but he could handle this. He could pretend that he felt the same, he was sure of it. 

Even though it took Ithro a few moments to really process that this was real, that the very thing he'd been trying so hard to forget was standing in front of him, he did manage to reel his feelings back in and get his head clear again. 

Without making it too obvious, the bartender turned his head some, watching Glanni separate out his things, not even a foot away from the shorter man. And though Íthró's stomach tightened a bit at the sight of all the lace laid out on the counter, he somehow managed to force some words out. 

"You're not wearing makeup." 

Glanni didn't jump at the sudden familiar accent a mere two feet away, but his hands stilled. His face showed no sign of reaction, which made Ithro wonder if he made the wrong choice, if he was supposed to pretend they didn't know each other. Having never been in this situation before, the etiquette wasn't too clear. 

Glanni thought for a moment, letting the statement hang in the air. He could pretend he didn't hear him, go about his business. Or, he could try the 'not being a dick' thing again. After all, Ithro really had done nothing wrong...

"I didn't see the point," he answered softly, resuming the work of separating his club clothes from his casual clothes. 

A soft laugh came from the shorter man, who started to mindlessly swing his legs again, seemingly more relaxed now. And that laugh made Glanni's heart flutter, made him silently scold himself for ever walking away from the older man. 

"I haven't seen you at work...are you sick?" 

The taller man sighed, scooping up a pile of glitter-coated fabric in his arms, carrying it to a washer a few feet away. Maybe he could fake this, pretend he was okay. Ithro didn't seem too upset with him, or if he was, he didn't let it show. 

Glanni spoke casually as he filled the machine, voice even and heart racing. "I just needed some time. I, uh. I don't...really want to talk about it. I know that seems unfair, since you were involved, but-"

"I understand," Ithro interrupted gently, flashing one of those maddeningly comforting smiles. And he meant it, although it hurt the slightest bit to know that his suspicions about the meaning of the event were true. 

Glanni didn't say anything, carrying on his usual routine of clothes, detergent, fumbling in his pockets for some quarters, filling the designated slots, and shoving the metal forward to feed his payment into the machine. 

Ithro didn't speak either, hopping down from the table so he could carry on his own business, switching his two loads from the washers to the dryers on the opposite wall of the laundromat. 

The air was something a bit awkward, the tension apparent between the pair. But, Ithro wasn't about to mess it up again or upset Glanni any further, so he didn't plan on carrying on any kind of conversation. 

Which, of course, is why the shorter man jumped when he turned away from the dryer he'd just loaded, and bumped right into Glanni. The two men immediately shuffled awkwardly away from each other, mumbling soft apologies. 

"I know I said I didn't want to talk about it-but I just have to ask...why did you cover for me?" 

The shorter man looked to the side, swallowing hard. Glanni wasn't used to seeing such a serious expression and for a moment, he dreaded the answer. He really should've just gone back home...

"I guess because I felt guilty. I shouldn't have, uhm." Ithro glanced around the room for a moment, making sure the only other person present wasn't close enough to hear them. Thankfully, she wasn't. "I shouldn't have kissed you." 

The taller man took that in for a second, noticing that Ithro was making a distinct attempt to not meet his eyes. "Ah, well, I shouldn't have put my hand on your cock." 

/That/ got a reaction. Íthró's mouth opened into a small 'o', chin tilting a bit so he could look up at the dancer once again. It wasn't the blunt statement, but rather the crude wording Glanni had chosen that had set him back for a moment. 

"N-no, that...that was fine. I mean...I could've stopped you." A deep breath in, followed by a breathy sigh. "Listen, Glanni, I didn't do it because of what you do or because I'd heard something about you and figured I could get away with it. I did it because I wanted to." 

Glanni wasn't used to hearing the shorter man speak this much, nor was he used to the strange tone the shorter man's voice held. It was something that sounded...honest, and honesty was something the dancer was used to. 

In fact, honesty was something Glanni wasn't even sure he was capable of himself. The taller of the pair started to open his mouth to speak, but Ithro raised a hand to silence him, brushing a shoulder against Glanni's as he passed by. 

The bartender resumed his position on the sorting table, hopping up effortlessly and crossing his arms over his chest once settled. 

All Glanni could do was shove his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, take a few steps to lean back against the counter, and listen. 

"It's like this: I'm new to town, I do not know anyone. I get this job-a job where everyone keeps telling me that I need to watch out for some terrible person who will only bring me pain. Now, that sounds...quite dramatic, I think. First of all, why would everyone assume that I would even want to talk to this person? Especially if they are so awful? Clearly, this is someone everyone-including a family member of mine-thinks I would be drawn to. That, of course, puts me in a position where I am...ah, what's the word? Eager? To meet this person. And when I do...yes, he is a little standoffish. Maybe his tone is somewhat unfavorable at times, but overall, he is beautiful and charming. Instantly, maybe because I was resentful of the warnings-or just simply because I could not control it-I was attracted to you. When I was able to do something about it, I did. But it's truly okay, because now I know you do not feel the same way, and we can carry on as coworkers...and we do not have to talk about it again, if you wish not to." 

Glanni had closed his eyes about halfway through the confession, legitimately unable to process any of this right now. Technically, he's had kind of hit and run with Ithro, and yet this incredible man was still willing to talk to him? It just didn't make sense.

He certainly didn't deserve that courtesy, or the empathy that came with it. While Glanni wasn't one to let anyone in, much less let anyone know they meant anything to him, he wasn't a complete asshole. So, after a few measures of silence, the taller man cleared his throat. 

"I don't mean to sound conceited, really I don't, but aren't you...upset?" 

Not even a pause before the shorter man stretched his arms above his head, fidgeting on the table. "Why would I be upset? It was a heat of the moment thing, Glanni." A casual shrug came after, though the dancer saw none of it, eyes focused on his washer across the floor.

Glanni frowned a little at the simplistic nature of the response, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. So, he took one hand out of his pocket, pretending to inspect the back of his hand. 

There was nothing else to say about it, he supposed. At least, not if Ithro was okay with everything. 

And, well, judging by the ever-present smile Glanni saw when he looked up from his faux inspection of his hand, it seemed the shorter man truly was alright. So, he cleared his throat, and finally turned his body to face Ithro properly. 

"You keep swinging your legs-aren't they tired?" 

Ithro didn't mind the subject change, if anything, he was grateful for it. Though his heart kept fluttering each time his eyes met Glanni's, and he felt the smallest hint of butterflies when the dancer turned and spoke in a clear voice, he could push that aside. At least for now. At least to maintain their friendship, if you could even call it that. 

"No, no. I prefer to always be moving. Sometimes on break at work, I'll duck outside and do jumping jacks." 

A sincere laugh came from the taller man, the air of awkwardness between the pair now almost instantly having vanished. 

"One of the girls said they saw you doing that, but I thought they were fucking with me."

"No, no! I do it all the time-wait, the girls were talking about me?" Íthró's eyes widened a little, heart speeding up a bit. Were they making fun of him?

"Just Elizabeth," the dancer assured him, but a small smirk pulled at the dancer's lips. "At least /that/ time. Other times, yeah, the girls talk about you. Mostly about your body. I guess Anton knew what he was doing when he told you to wear muscle tanks...I don't know what they're going on about though, it's not like your physique is /that/ impressive." 

There Glanni went again, with the casual snark, the borderline flirting. Maybe it was true, that old habits die hard. For a moment, Glanni stiffened a bit, expecting the shorter man to jump down from the table and end the conversation. 

Instead, though, the bartender simply crossed his arms over his chest once again, narrowing his eyes as a playful smile graced his lips. "Ah, but you admit it /is/ impressive?"

The way the corners of the older man's eyes crinkled a bit when he smiled, the soft change in tone that allowed the dancer some ease was something Glanni would've described as beautiful. Not that he noticed those things, not at all. 

It was a relief, to know that someone more or less 'got' him. Or, rather, was trying to understand him. It seemed impossible to him, that someone could be so understanding. 

It was borderline unfathomable that someone could be so accepting of the ever-changing waters that was the river of Glanni Glæpur. And yet, here someone was, doing just that. Glanni couldn't fuck this up, not this time. 

"Oh, shut up," was the only response the taller man could muster up, using his open palm to give Íthró's thigh a playful nudge. 

While the bartender didn't seem to react in any way, Glanni couldn't help but feel a short burst of what could be compared to electricity ignite in his fingertips when he made contact with the shorter man. 

But, Ithro didn't notice the way Glanni's face fell a little. No, instead, the dancer was somehow miraculously saved the embarrassment. Quite literally, Glanni was saved by the bell, his washer beeping to let him know his clothes needed to be switched over. 

This time, it wasn't hard to walk away from Ithro. It wasn't easy this time just because they were finally getting along, but because this time, Glanni knew the shorter man would be waiting for him when he got back.  
The dancer tried to hide his smile as he loaded an armful of clothing into the dryer, but there was no point.

Pacing back to the table and hopping up himself now, Glanni crossed one leg over the other. Sure enough, Ithro was still there. This time, though, his legs were still and a thoughtful expression had found home on his face. 

Glanni shifted a bit, letting his hands fall over each of his own thighs, fingers mindlessly tapping on the soft grey fabric beneath them. "You okay?" 

"Yeah...I was just thinking."

"About?" 

"You said I should meet your skunk sometime." 

It was Glanni's turn to flash a smile now, teeth and all. "Ah, I did, didn't I?" 

Ithro turned his head, making eye contact with the dancer once again, and this time, both men could feel time stop. In one single question, in just six words, Ithro finally did it. He finally broke Glanni. 

"What are you doing after this?" 

The dancer hesitated for just a moment, searching those crystal oceans for any hint of anything other than sincerity. It was...unreal, the entire situation. It didn't make sense in the slightest, but maybe that's why it felt so exciting, so fresh. 

After taking a few moments to compose himself, the dancer was ready to accept that this was really happening. Clearing his throat, the dancer silently prayed his voice wouldn't break with the answer. 

"Going back to my apartment with you, I suppose."


	13. Actions and Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise bitch, I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me. 
> 
> (I'm back now and also I apologize again for formatting.)

It didn't take long for the dryers to chime, the men to load up their laundry bags, and pile into Íthró's car. 

After throwing his bag into Íthró's absolutely pristine backseat, Glanni slid into the passenger's side quietly. Crossing his legs once settled, the dancer tried everything in his power not to light a cigarette or tap his fingers nervously on the ledge of the door that was pressing into his side. 

Ithro didn't seem to mind the silence, the ever-present smile still plastered to the shorter man's face as he pulled out of the laundromat. The dancer was about to give directions, but Ithro was already turning right, and seemed to remember where to go. 

Interesting, Glanni thought. The dancer couldn't help but wonder what else the older man remembered about him. He couldn't help but wonder if Ithro had a strong memory, or if he made an effort to remember things because he was invested in Glanni. 

After a moment though, that thought faded from Glanni's mind. It was ridiculous, to think someone would /genuinely/ care for him in that capacity. He assumed the only reason Ithro was going to come over was to try to talk more about what happened, or try to talk to him about his lifestyle, scold Glanni for being so reckless. 

Even if Ithro said a million and three times that everything was settled, that he was at peace with things, it just wouldn't ring true for Glanni. The dancer just wasn't someone that could take words at face value. 

Maybe that was why he was still where he was in life, going through the same motions constantly, expecting a change. He'd heard once that that was the true definition of insanity, and at this point-at twenty four years old-he wasn't sure if he could argue against that. 

Lost in thought, Glanni didn't even realize the car had pulled into a front spot in his complex's parking lot. He hadn't even noticed that the car was off, the engine no longer humming, and that Ithro was looking at him expectantly. 

"Do you want me to carry your laundry in for you?" 

Turning his head to meet eyes with the shorter man, the dancer licked his lips and spoke quietly. "No, no...I can get it. Uhm, thank you, though."

Glanni should've been used to Ithro's kindness by now, he should've been used to the soft voice that fell from the shorter man's lips, a hint of a smile present in his words.

Yet, somehow, the dancer always felt a small spread of warmth in his chest whenever the bartender showed him any amount of kindness. 

Unable to hide the small smile on his face, Glanni finally pushed the car door open, stepped out, retrieved his bag from the back, and led Ithro to the front door of his apartment. 

The taller man had to fumble with his pockets for a minute, searching for his keys. He flashed the muscled man a small smile as he unlocked the door. 

Shuffling inside quickly, not wanting his pet to run out in all the excitement of Glanni coming home, the taller man set down the garbage bag of clothes inside the doorway. 

"It's nice," Ithro commented quietly, stepping past Glanni and surveying the rather bare and extremely white walls of the one bedroom apartment. 

It was simple, modest. A pale grey couch was pressed against the wall, and a TV sat opposite to it. No coffee table, the bartender noticed, but there was a rather decently sized square of rug lying in the center of the hardwood floor. 

Ithro was about to make a comment about the lack of furniture or even wall decor, but a bouncing ball of black and white was scurrying from the half-open bedroom door around the corner of the living room. 

"Sneak, slow down!" Glanni gave a soft laugh as he reprimanded the skunk, who was now pawing at Ithro's shins. "Sorry, he gets excited whenever company is around and..."

Trailing off, Glanni watched in amazement as the shorter man took a step back, knelt down onto his knees. "Can I pick him up?" He asked quietly as he held out his hand to Sneaker in offering. 

The small bundle of black and white fur showed no hesitation, affectionately bumping his head against the back of Ithro's hand. Completely in awe of how domestic the entire situation was, all Glanni could do was nod. 

"He seems to like you," the dancer said barely above a whisper. 

Sneaker was being scooped up into Ithro's strong arms, a smile so bright it could blind plastered onto the shorter man's face. "And I like him!"

Watching his pet nuzzle against Ithro's shoulder, paw at his chest, and snuggle into his arms, Glanni was speechless. While Sneaker wasn't ever unfriendly, he was rarely this trusting and affectionate to anyone except for Glanni. 

But there was something about Ithro. Something everyone seemed to see, and feel, and sense. Something that Glanni wished he didn't see. Something Glanni wished he didn't feel and desire and, truthfully, need. 

And here he was-this beacon of hope, acceptance, love, and life. Standing in the dancer's living room, holding the most important thing in Glanni's world in his arms with a tenderness words could never describe. 

"How long have you had him?" Ithro was petting the ball of fluff in his arms, smiling wide. It was melting Glanni's heart, and making it a little difficult to respond in a timely manner. 

"About six months." Glanni's reply was soft, almost sounding cautious as he watched Ithro absolutely smother Sneaker in affectionate touches. 

For a brief moment, Glanni couldn't help but think that Ithro would make an amazing father. So full of unconditional love, so full of acceptance and kindness. 

He seemed to always know the exactly right thing to say, seemed to always be genuinely interested when engaging in conversation. 

But Glanni shook the thought off quickly, knowing damn well that even if Ithro would be a good parent, it's not like Glanni would ever see it. Not after everything he's already put Ithro through. 

Though, when they were at the laundromat...Ithro /had/ said that he kissed Glanni because he wanted to. That he was attracted to him. Maybe...

"Ithro, I know you said it was over with...but, why did you say you kissed me, again?" 

The bartender shifted the animal in his arms, pursing his lips in thought. His eyes were focused on the floor, and for a moment, Glanni thought that he'd fucked up again. Said too much. Opened wounds that needed to stay sewn shut. 

But, as per usual, a warm smile graced Ithro's features and blue eyes locked with Glanni's own. "Because I wanted to," the muscled man said simply. 

"Do you think that's a good enough reason to do something?" 

The shorter man paused for a moment, a hand stroking down Sneaker's back as he tilted his head some and thought about the question. Of course that was a good enough reason. Nothing happens just by waiting, after all. 

The topic change was slightly surprising, but it didn't make the bartender uncomfortable by any means. Though he wondered what Glanni was getting at, he obliged an answer. 

"You never know if you don't try...I suppose it depends on how badly you want something." 

It was Glanni's turn to break now, biting his lip hard as he turned the words over in his head a few times. Staring into the deep blue was causing his hands to tremble slightly, and the dancer was extremely self aware. 

He could feel the piqued interest, he could feel that he'd quiet for too long. He could feel the shift in the air, the door of opportunity swinging open. 

But rather than screw it up with words, rather than ruining his chance, and rather than pushing away the thing he wanted most once again, Glanni decided to take action. 

No more complicated thoughts coming out in jumbled strings of nonsensical sentences. No, not this time. Instead, Glanni took a step toward the shorter man in front of him. 

Sneaker still cradled safely in Ithro's arms, the dancer lifted a cautious hand up to let his palm cup the bartender's impossibly soft cheek. 

Stormy eyes searched Ithro's for a moment, looking for any signs of hesitation. But none were present, and the small step that Ithro took toward Glanni felt like as much permission as the dancer needed.

With a tenderness Glanni didn't even know he was capable of, he leaned down and pressed his lips softly against Ithro's. It was just a gentle press, a lingering motion, somewhat of a test. But it was wonderful nonetheless. 

There was no clock to race against, no prying eyes to hide from, no worry in this kiss. It was soft and simple, maybe even safe. 

Ithro's eyes fluttered shut and he instinctively pulled Sneaker a bit closer to his chest, pushing up on his toes to return the kiss he was being given. 

The bartender had truly thought that the subject was dropped. He'd thought the chance was squandered. He'd fully believed that the cards were off the table. 

But there was something magnetic in all of Glanni's words. Something in the taller man's eyes that always pulled Ithro in. Something undeniable and raw, that made his heart beat a little faster and his skin feel a little hotter. 

Thankfully, this time Glanni seemed much more 'sober' about his actions. The change of calculation was a relief, and it made it impossible to hesitate to part his lips a bit. 

Glanni let his free hand move up to Ithro's shoulder, still aware that the skunk was between them, but not caring at all in this moment. He accepted the motion and let his own lips part, sighing softly into the shorter man's mouth. 

Tilting his head a bit, the dancer let their lips close once more and pulled back just enough to press his forehead against Ithro's.

Glanni didn't dare to open his eyes, so he had no way of knowing that the shorter man's had remained closed as well. Both men stood in silence, small smiles tugging at the corners of their lips. 

A small squeak came from between them and Glanni took a step back, clearing his throat as he finally opened his eyes and watched Sneaker jump down from Ithro's arms. 

Letting his eyes meet the shorter man's once again, Glanni felt completely at peace. For once, he didn't feel like he had to come up with an excuse for his actions. For once, he didn't feel unsafe and unloved and used and broken inside. 

Ithro didn't speak, but just looked at the taller man with half-lidded eyes, arms no longer occupied by the furry baby, and now at his aides. 

It was hard not to smile like an idiot, knowing full and well that this wasn't going to be swept under the rug. No, this was the start of something. That was evident in the way Glanni reached out a timid hand toward Ithro, palm turned upward and fingers slightly cupped. 

A wave of something that could only be described as electric surged through the bartender's hand as he let his own palm cover Glanni's. 

And without another word, Ithro was being led past the grey couch, a sleeping skunk curled on it's cushions. He was being led around a corner, through a half-open door. 

Slender fingers gently intertwined with his own as Glanni closed the door behind them. Breath caught in the shorter man's throat as he felt his back press against the wooden body of the door, and tilted his chin upward to lock eyes with the dancer once again. 

Without heels, the height difference wasn't as apparent. It didn't seem that Glanni towered over him anymore. He didn't seem like some unrealistically beautiful being he could never reach. 

No, instead, he felt like a friend. A lover. A safe space. And the feeling only intensified when, possibly softer than before, lips pressed against his own once more.


	14. Questions and Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise bitch part two

Ithro's head was spinning, soft lips pressing gently against his, over and over and over again. Letting the dancer take the lead once again, Ithro relaxed against the wooden door. 

Not the most comfortable thing to have his back pressed to at moment, but with Glanni pressed to his front, he had no room to complain. 

The dancer's kisses were soft and fleeting, gentle brushes of contact that Ithro could only describe as electric. It was so much better this way, in the quiet of Glanni's home. Every motion was soft, sweet, and better than either of the men could have imagined this could be. 

Glanni smiled against Ithro's lips before pulling back a bit and letting his nose rub against the bartender's. The taller man had never thought himself capable of doing anything like this. He never thought he'd want to let feelings into the mix, and especially not with a coworker. 

But, Ithro made Glanni feel safe. Not only in words, but in action, too. There was a sense of security he felt with the older man that he'd never known before. And the look the dancer found in the Ithro's eyes, when he paused for a moment and searched them, was something he honestly never thought he'd see. 

It was a look of trust, adoration, and lust all mixed into one. A look that told Glanni this was right, and that there was nothing to be scared of with Ithro. But Glanni must've been searching a little too much, wading just a little too long in pools of blue. 

"...Glanni? Is everything okay? Do you want to stop?" 

The dancer swallowed nervously, but somehow managed to maintain eye contact. It took a second for the words to sink in, for Glanni to process the question being asked.   
But, looking into those eyes and hearing that soft voice quietly offering an out, the dancer realized how much he didn't want to take it. 

"No...do you?" 

Glanni didn't know how long he could wait for an answer, his brain screaming at him for being stupid enough to stop kissing the man in front of him. Luckily, he didn't have to wait for long. 

Ithro's teeth worried his lower lip for a moment, and then the bartender simply shook his head. That small gesture was all Glanni needed to let his lips press right below the shorter man's ear, and begin to kiss over the soft skin on Ithro's neck. 

It took a few moments for Ithro's brain to catch up with his body, and for his arms to slowly snake around Glanni's waist. But when they did, the dancer couldn't help but press a bit closer to the shorter man, letting one of his legs move between Ithro's. 

Thank god for the support. Once the bartender felt Glanni's teeth scrape gently against his skin, he couldn't stop his knees from going completely weak, slumping back a bit against the door. 

Glanni didn't seem to mind, pushing his knee up a bit as he latched onto the side of Ithro's neck, determined to leave a mark that would get the both of them in trouble at work. 

Encouraged by the arms around his waist and the soft gasp coming from Ithro's lips, Glanni didn't hesitate to let one hand reach up and hold the side of the shorter man's neck that wasn't currently being ravaged. 

Glanni's other hand reached blindly to one of the arms at his waist, fingertips trailing gently up over Ithro's forearm, until he got to the shorter man's shoulder. 

Pulling back from Ithro's neck, Glanni pressed a few light kisses against Ithro's half-open mouth. The dancer took a second to breathe, and the bartender took a second to catch his breath. 

Somehow, this felt more intense than even the most hardcore sex Glanni had participated in. Somehow, this felt so much more real and so much easier to screw up. This felt riskier, but by no means did it feel bad. 

Ithro's fingers gently started to ball up the fabric of Glanni's shirt at his lower back in anticipation. The way the dancer seemed to slow the pace made Ithro worry that he'd done something wrong, and he was almost ready to ask again if everything was alright. 

But before Ithro could get too into his head about anything, before he could even open his mouth to speak, he heard Glanni's voice once again. Speaking quietly and trying his best to keep his tone even, Glanni said a single word. 

"Bed."

It should've been awkward, for the men to pull away from each other and shuffle over to the bed pressed into a far corner of the room. But, it wasn't. The dancer simply laced his fingers with Ithro's and pulled him toward the mattress, allowing himself to sit down on the edge and gaze up at the shorter man, up for almost anything at the moment. Anything except for what the bartender had in mind, though. 

Ithro sat down beside Glanni, allowing his free hand to lie atop the pair's laced fingers, now resting on Ithro's thigh. The taller man started to lean into him a bit, eager to continue what had been interrupted. But, that wasn't why Ithro was here. 

He wanted so badly to give in, to finally let himself have what he'd been fantasizing about for weeks. He wanted to feel the soft kisses from lips as soft and smooth as rose petals. He wanted to run his eager hands across pale, glitter-stained skin he'd previously only been allowed to view under harsh blacklights.

But with his desire came other feelings, other impulses. As easy as it would be to lean into Glanni right now, and satisfy the urge he had to be as close to the other man as possible...the urge to hold the dancer close and protect him against all odds was far stronger. 

Glanni took the hint as soon as the man beside him began to lean away from the kiss. Albeit slightly hurt, he didn't blame Ithro. Surely, now that he'd had a taste of what Glanni had to offer-away from all the noise and lights and spectators-he must be less than impressed. 

Glanni let out a sigh and cast his gaze downward, disappointed in himself for hoping for a different outcome than this one. He started to open his hand to unlace his fingers, but his motion was countered by Ithro's grip tightening a bit. 

The older man could see a wave of confusion wave over Glanni's face, so he cleared his throat and decided he'd be the first one to start. 

"I like you, Glanni...quite a bit." 

The dancer nodded slowly, eyes still focused on the ground, hand limp in Ithro's grip. He chewed on his lower lip for a minute, waiting for the follow up, for the explanation as to why he wasn't good enough. 

Sure, there were a million reasons, but Glanni had heard them all before. While he wasn't particularly looking forward to the recap, after thirty seconds of silence, the anticipation was too much. 

"But...?"

Ithro furrowed his brow, tilting his head to the side a bit, sort of like a puppy. "But what?" 

"You like me...but. But what? What's the reason we can't do, yknow, /this/?" The dancer moved his free hand in a broad motion between the pair, slightly frustrated that the bartender wasn't getting to the point. 

"There is no 'but', Glanni. I like you. I want you to know that. I know you hear that a lot. From a lot of different people and-don't roll your eyes at me-I'm no different from them in your eyes. I understand that. But, it's not...it's not just physical, Glanni. I could not care any less what my cousin says or what the girls have said or what you may even think about yourself. I like you. And that's that." 

A moment of silence while the dancer closed his eyes and tries to process the words he was hearing, words surely not meant for him. Words were failing him, and as he exhaled slowly and tried to piece all the jumbled thoughts together, the taller man let his grip on Ithro's hand tighten just a bit. 

"I've never had one of these talks before. Honesty and verbal communication isn't exactly my strongest suit, so be patient with me here. I...don't think you're like everyone else. I did. For a while. I, y'know...when you first started, and I asked you to do my makeup, I was flirting with you just because I could. Because I wanted the attention, I wanted a reaction. But, you didn't...you never imposed. Hell, you've never even asked me out. I see you watching me sometimes, but you always look away when I looked over. We keep missing each other, I think. And that's such a shame because you're the only person at the club-patron or otherwise-that talks to me like I'm a human being. And...and now I'm rambling and I'm staring at a spot on the carpet and realizing that I /really/ need to vacuum in here because Sneaker is starting to shed and-"

Soft lips against Glanni's reddening cheek caught him off guard, and forced the corners of his mouth to curve into a smile. It didn't feel like he was being cut off, but rather comforted. His hand was being held, his words were being heard, his feelings were being considered. 

It was all very new, but none of it was bad. Not even a little. And, luckily, in perfect timing as usual, an accented voice cut through the silence now filling the room and helped Glanni to not feel so lost in the situation at hand. 

"The way we met is not important. I mean...it builds our story. Am I allowed to say that? To refer to you and I as an 'us'?" 

The dancer nodded slowly, finally tearing his gaze away from the floor. Glannj didn't meet Ithro's eyes, instead opting to really take in just how well their hands fit together, fingers woven together in a tightness that you'd think these hands were always meant to hold each other. 

"I...I really like the idea of 'us'." 

"Good. So do I. Look, I'm not making any promises here, not yet. And I don't want to pressure you into anything you're not ready for. But I think we both keep-and pardon my pun-dancing around this, around us. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to try this. I want to...I want to be able to kiss you on our time, and I want to be able to talk about it after. I want to hear about your life. Your real life, the one you don't bring into the club. I want to go for a Sunday drive with you, and just be two men enjoying each other's company. I won't shoo off your customers. I won't tell my cousin. I know what your profession is, Glanni. And I think...if I may say so, I think I know what comes with that. And I understand and am ready to accept that part of you." 

The confession pouring from Ithro's lips was almost unbelievable for Glanni. How could someone to be so ready and willing to accept baggage they don't even really understand? How could someone be so calm, spilling their emotions like that? 

How could someone be so willing to lay all of their cards on the table, knowing that the other person could sweep them all askew? Glanni would never understand it, not really. But, when the dancer let himself finally look into those icy blue eyes, and see the honesty within them, he knew. 

He knew that there was absolutely no way he would take Ithro's trust for granted. Not now and not as long as he had it. So he simply licked his lips and took in a slow breath. 

"Okay," he stated simply. "I know I should say more. Uhm. I...like your idea. A lot. And I'd be willing to...to try that." 

Ithro smiled softly, relieved that his words had been received well. Though, he was slightly overwhelmed that the door was now suddenly open for them to try something neither of them were sure they were ready for, he wouldn't miss this opportunity for anything.

"So...where do we start?" 

Instead of using words, and possibly missing the chance to feel the safety of Ithro's embrace, the dancer leaned forward to finally press his lips against the bartender's again. Being met with the same tenderness, and feeling Ithro lean into the touch, Glanni knew that this time, neither would be pulling away for any more discussions or to contemplate any second thoughts. 

And that would be where they would start.


End file.
